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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^I^^9^u4^m 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2010  witii  funding  from 

University  of  Nortii  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/hissombrerivalsOOroee 


His  Sombre  Rivals, 


BY 

EDWARD    P.    ROE, 

author  of 

Barriers  Burned  Awav,"  "Opening  a  Chestnut  Burk, 

"Without  a  Home,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


NEW  YORK : 
DODD,    MEAD.&    COMPANY, 

Publishers. 


Copyright,  1883, 

BY 

DODD,   MEAD   &   COMPANY. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  story  has  been  taking  form  in  my 
mind  for  several  years,  and  at  last  I  have  been  able 
to  write  it  out.  With  a  regret  akin  to  sadness,  I 
take  my  leave,  this  August  day,  of  people  who  have 
become  very  real  to  me,  whose  joys  and  sorrows  I 
have  made  my  own.  Although  a  Northern  man,  I 
think  my  Southern  readers  v/ill  feel  that  I  have 
sought  to  do  justice  to  their  motives.  At  this  dis- 
tance from  the  late  Civil  War,  it  is  time  that  passion 
and  prejudice  sank  below  the  horizon,  and  among 
the  surviving  soldiers  who  were  arrayed  against  each 
other  I  think  they  have  practically  disappeared. 
Stern  and  prolonged  conflict  taught  mutual  respect. 
The  men  of  the  Northern  armies  were  convinced, 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  they  had  fought 
men  and  Americans, — men  whose  patriotism  and 
devotion  to  a  cause,  sacred  to  them,  was  as  pure 
and  lofty  as  their  own.  It  is  time  that  sane  men 
and  women  should  be  large-minded  enough  to 
recognize  that,  whatever  may  have  been  the  original 
motives  of  political  leaders,  the  people  on  both  sides 
were  sincere  and  honest  ;  that  around  the  camp-fires 

603215 


iv  r  HE  FACE. 

at  their  hearths  and  in  their  places  of  worship  they 
looked  for  God's  blessing  on  their  efforts  with  equal 
freedom  from  hypocrisy. 

I  have  endeavored  to  portray  the  battle  of  Bull 
Run  as  it  could  appear  to  a  civilian  spectator :  to 
give  a  suggestive  picture  and  not  a  general  descrip- 
tion. The  following  war-scenes  are  imaginary,  and 
colored  by  personal  reminiscence.  I  was  in  the  ser- 
vice nearly  four  years,  two  of  which  were  spent  witli 
the  cavalry.  Nevertheless,  justly  distrustful  of  my 
knowledge  of  military  affairs,  I  have  submitted  my 
proofs  to  my  friend  Colonel  H.  C.  Hasbrouck, 
Commandant  of  Cadets  at  West  Point,  and  therefore 
have  confidence  that  as  mere  sketches  of  battles  and 
skirmishes  they  are  not  technically  defective. 

The  title  of  the  story  will  naturally  lead  the  reader 
to  expect  that  deep  shadows  rest  upon  many  of  its 
pages.  I  know  it  is  scarcely  the  fashion  of  the  pres- 
ent time  to  portray  men  and  women  who  feel  very 
deeply  about  anything,  but  there  certainly  was  deep 
feeling  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  as,  in  truth, 
there  is  to-day.  The  heart  of  humanity  is  like  the 
ocean.  There  are  depths  to  be  stirred  when  the 
causes  are  adequate. 

CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON,  E,     P.     R. 

August  21,  1883. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 


An  Embodiment  of  May 


PAGE 
9 

CHAPTER  II. 
Mere  Fancies,     . 20 


32 


CHAPTER  III. 
The  Verdict  of  a  Sage 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Warning  or  Incentive -5 

CHAPTER  V. 

Impressions, 

•         •        43 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Philosophy  at  Fault, 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Warren  Hilland, ^2 

CHAPTER  VIII, 
Supreme  Moments, ^^ 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Revelation,         .        .  a. 
04 


vi  CON  TEN 7^ S. 

CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE 

The  KiNSHii'  of  SufferIxNG, 94 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Ordeal •        .        .        .       loi 

CHAPTER  Xn. 
Flight  tu  Nature, 114 

CHAPTER  XHI. 
The  Friends, 126 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Noble  Deception 138 

CHAPTER  XV. 
"  I  Wish  he  had  Known," 151 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  Cloud  in  the  South, 162 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Preparation 175 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Call  to  Arms 186 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Blood-red  Sky, lo^ 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Two  Battles 201 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
The  Logic  of  Events, 2iy 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Self-Sentenced, 242 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
An  Early  Dream  Fulfilled, 250 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Unchronicled  Conflicts, 264 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  Presentiment, 274 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
An  Improvised  Picture  Gallery,    .....      283 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
A  Dream, 293 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
Its  Fulfilment, 310 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
A  Southern  Girl,       . 322 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Guerillas,  338 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Just  in  Time, 349 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
A  Wounded  Spirit,  360 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
The  White-Haired  Nurse, 367 


VIU  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

PAGE 

Rita's  Brother 381 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
His  Sombre  Rivals,  391 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
All  Materialists 399 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
The  Effort  to  Live, 409 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Graham's  Last  Sacrifice,         .        .        .        .        .        .      426 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
Married  Unconsciously, 439 

CHAPTER  XL. 
Rita  Anderson, 461 

CHAPTER  XLL 
A  Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them 473 


CHAPTER    I. 

AN   EMBODIMENT  OF   MAY. 

"■pEYOND   that  revolving  light  lies  my  home. 

J3  And  yet  why  should  I  use  such  a  term  when 
the  best  I  can  say  is  that  a  continent  is  my  home  ? 
Home  suggests  a  loved  familiar  nook  in  the  great 
world.  There  is  no  such  niche  for  me,  nor  can  I 
recall  any  place  around  which  my  memory  lingers 
with  especial  pleasure." 

In  a  gloomy  and  somewhat  bitter  mood,  Alford 
Graham  thus  soHloquized  as  he  paced  the  deck  of 
an  in-coming  steamer.  In  explanation  it  may  be 
briefly  said  that  he  had  been  orphaned  early  in  life, 
and  that  the  residences  of  his  guardians  had  never 
been  made  homelike  to  him.  While  scarcely  more 
than  a  child  he  had  been  placed  at  boarding-schools 
where  the  system  and  routine  made  the  youth's  life 
little  better  than  that  of  a  soldier  in  his  barrack. 
Many  boys  would  have  grown  hardy,  aggressive, 
callous,  and  very  possibly  vicious  from  being  thrown 
out  on  the  world  so  early.  Young  Graham  became 
reticent  and  to  superficial  observers  shy.  Those 
who  cared  to  observe  him  closely,  however,  dis- 
covered that  it  was  not  diffidence,  but  indifference 


lO  HIS   SOMB]<E   RIVALS. 

toward  others  that  characterized  his  manner.  In 
the  most  impressible  period  of  his  hfe  he  had  re- 
ceived instruction,  advice,  and  discipline  in  abun- 
dance, but  love  and  sympathy  had  been  denied. 
Unconsciously  his  heart  had  become  chilled,  be- 
numbed, and  overshadowed  by  his  intellect.  The 
actual  world  gave  him  little  and  seemed  to  promise 
less,  and,  as  a  result  not  at  all  unnatural,  he  became 
something  of  a  recluse  and  bookworm  even  before 
he  had  left  behind  him  the  years  of  boyhood. 

Both  comrades  and  teachers  eventually  learned 
that  the  retiring  and  solitary  youth  was  not  to  be 
trifled  with.  He  looked  his  instructor  steadily  in 
the  eye  when  he  recited,  and  while  his  manner  was 
respectful,  it  was  never  deferential,  nor  could  he  be 
induced  to  yield  a  point,  when  believing  himself  in 
the  right,  to  mere  arbitrary  assertion  ;  and  some- 
times he  brought  confusion  to  his  teacher  by  quoting 
in  support  of  his  own  view  some  unimpeachable 
authority. 

At  the  beginning  of  each  school  term  there  were 
usually  rough  fellows  who  thought  the  quiet  boy 
could  be  made  the  subject  of  practical  jokes  and 
petty  annoyances  without  much  danger  of  re- 
taliation. Graham  would  usually  remain  patient 
up  to  a  certain  point,  and  then,  in  dismay  and 
astonishment,  the  offender  would  suddenly  find 
himself  receiving  a  punishment  which  he  seemed 
powerless  to  resist.  Blows  would  fall  like  hail,  or  if 
the  combatants  closed  in  the  struggle,  the  aggressor 
appeared  to  find  in  Graham's  slight  form  sinew  and 
fury  only.     It  seemed  as  if  the  lad's   spirit  broke 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MA  Y.  1 1 

forth  in  such  a  flame  of  indignation  that  no  one 
could  withstand  him.  It  was  also  remembered  that 
while  he  was  not  noted  for  prowess  on  the  play- 
ground, few  could  surpass  him  in  the  gymnasium, 
and  that  he  took  long  solitary  rambles.  Such  of 
his  class-mates,  therefore,  as  were  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  him  because  of  his  unpopular  ways  soon  learned 
that  he  kept  up  his  muscle  with  the  best  of  them, 
and  that,  when  at  last  roused,  his  anger  struck  like 
lightning  from  a  cloud. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  college  course  he 
gradually  formed  a  strong  friendship  for  a  young 
man  of  a  different  type,  an  ardent  sunny-natured 
youth,  who  proved  an  antidote  to  his  morbid  tenden- 
cies. They  went  abroad  together  and  studied  for  two 
years  at  a  German  university,  and  then  Warren  Hil- 
land,  Graham's  friend,  having  inherited  large  wealth, 
returned  to  his  home.  Graham,  left  to  himself, 
delved  more  and  more  deeply  in  certain  phases  of 
sceptical  philosophy.  It  appeared  to  him  that  in 
the  past  men  had  believed  almost  everything,  and 
that  the  heavier  the  drafts  made  on  credulity  the 
more  largely  had  they  been  honored.  The  two 
friends  had  long  since  resolved  that  the  actual  and 
the  proved  should  be  the  base  from  which  they 
would  advance  into  the  unknown,  and  they  dis- 
carded with  equal  indifference  unsubstantiated  the- 
ories of  science  and  what  they  were  pleased  to 
term  the  illusions  of  faith.  "  From  the  verge  of 
the  known  explore  the  unknown,"  was  their  motto, 
and  it  had  been  their  hope  to  spend  their  lives  in 
extending  the  outposts  of  accurate  knowledge,  in 


12  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

some  one  or  two  directions,  a  little  beyond  the 
points  already  reached.  Since  the  scalpel  and 
microscope  revealed  no  soul  in  the  human  mechan- 
ism they  regarded  all  theories  and  beliefs  concern- 
ing a  separate  spiritual  existence  as  mere  assump- 
tion. They  accepted  the  materialistic  view.  To 
them  each  generation  was  a  link  in  an  endless  chain, 
and  man  himself  wholly  the  product  of  an  evolution 
which  had  no  relations  to  a  creative  mind,  for  they 
had  no  belief  in  the  existence  of  such  a  mind. 
They  held  that  one  had  only  to  live  wisely  and 
well,  and  thus  transmit  the  principle  of  life,  not  only 
unvitiated,  but  strengthened  and  enlarged.  Sins 
against  body  and  mind  were  sins  against  the  race, 
and  it  was  their  creed  that  the  stronger,  fuller,  and 
more  nearly  complete  they  made  their  lives  the  richer 
and  fuller  would  be  the  life  that  succeeded  them. 
They  scouted,  as  utterly  unproved  and  irrational, 
the  idea  that  they  could  live  after  death,  excepting 
as  the  plant  lives  by  adding  to  the  material  life  and 
well-being  of  other  plants.  But  at  that  time  the 
spring  and  vigor  of  youth  were  in  their  heart  and 
brain,  and  it  seemed  to  them  a  glorious  thing  to 
live  and  do  their  part  in  the  advancement  of  the 
race  toward  a  stage  of  perfection  not  dreamed  of  by 
the  unthinking  masses. 

Alas  for  their  visions  of  future  achievement  ! 
An  avalanche  of  wealth  had  overwhelmed  Hilland. 
His  letters  to  his  friend  had  grown  more  and  more 
infrequent,  and  they  contained  many  traces  of  the 
business  cares  and  the  distractions  inseparable  from 
his  possessions  and  new  relations.     And  now  for 


AN   EMBODIMENT  OF  MA  Y. 


13 


causes  just  the  reverse  Graham  also  was  forsaking 
his  studies.  His  modest  inheritance,  invested  chief- 
ly in  real  estate,  had  so  far  depreciated  that  ap- 
parently it  could  not  much  longer  provide  for  even 
his  frugal  life  abroad. 

"  I  must  give  up  my  chosen  career  for  a  life  of 
bread-winning,"  he  had  concluded  sadly,  and  he 
was  ready  to  avail  himself  of  any  good  opening  that 
offered.  Therefore  he  knew  not  Avhere  his  lot 
would  be  cast  on  the  broad  continent  beyond  the 
revolving  light  that  loomed  every  moment  more 
distinctly  in  the  west. 

A  few  days  later  found  him  at  the  residence  of 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  a  pretty  cottage  in  a  suburb  of  an 
eastern  city.  This  lady  was  his  aunt  by  marriage, 
and  had  long  been  a  widow.  She  had  never  mani- 
fested much  interest  in  her  nephew,  but  since  she 
was  his  nearest  relative  he  felt  that  he  could  not  do 
less  than  call  upon  her.  To  his  agreeable  surprise 
he  found  that  time  had  mellowed  her  spirit  and 
softened  her  angularities.  After  the  death  of  her 
husband  she  had  developed  unusual  ability  to  take 
care  of  herself,  and  had  shown  little  disposition  to 
take  care  of  any  one  else.  Her  thrift  and  economy 
had  greatly  enhanced  her  resources,  and  her  in- 
vestments had  been  profitable,  while  the  sense  of 
increasing  abundance  had  had  a  happy  effect  on  her 
character.  Within  the  past  year  she  had  purchased 
the  dwelling  in  which  she  now  resided,  and  to  which 
she  welcomed  Graham  with  unexpected  warmth. 
So  far  from  permitting  him  to  make  simply  a 
formal    call,    she    insisted    on   an    extended    visit. 


14  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

and  he,  divorced  from  his  studies  and  therefore 
feeling  his  isolation  more  keenly  than  ever  before, 
assented. 

"My  home  is  accessible,"  she  said,  "and  from 
this  point  you  can  make  inquiries  and  look  around 
for  business  opportunities  quite  as  well  as  from  a 
city  hotel." 

She  was  so  cordial,  so  perfectly  sincere,  that  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  what  it  was  to  have 
kindred  and  a  place  in  the  world  that  was  not 
purchased. 

He  had  found  his  financial  affairs  in  a  much 
better  condition  than  he  had  expected.  Some  im- 
provements were  on  foot  which  promised  to  advance 
the  value  of  his  real  estate  so  largely  as  to  make  him 
independent,  and  he  was  much  inclined  to  return  to 
Germany  and  resume  his  studies. 

"  I  will  rest  and  vegetate  for  a  time,"  he  con- 
cluded. "  I  will  wait  till  my  friend  Hilland  returns 
from  the  West,  and  then,  when  the  impulse  of  work 
takes  possession  of  me  again,  I  will  decide  upon  my 
course." 

He  had  come  over  the  ocean  to  meet  his  fate, 
and  not  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  presentiment  of 
this  truth  crossed  his  mind  as  he  looked  tranquilly 
from  his  aunt's  parlor  window  at  the  beautiful  May 
sunset.  The  cherry  blossoms  were  on  the  wane, 
and  the  light  puffs  of  wind  brought  the  white  petals 
down  like  flurries  of  snow  ;  the  plum-trees  looked 
as  if  the  snow  had  clung  to  every  branch  and  spray, 
and  they  were  as  white  as  they  could  have  been 
after  some  breathless,  large-flaked  December  storm  ; 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MA  Y.  15 

but  the  great  apple-tree  that  stood  well  down  the 
path  was  the  crowning  product  of  May.  A  more  ex- 
quisite bloom  of  pink  and  white  against  an  emerald 
foil  of  tender  young  leaves  could  not  have  existed 
even  in  Eden,  nor  could  the  breath  of  Eve  have 
been  more  sweet  than  the  fragrance  exhaled.  The 
air  was  soft  with  summer-like  mildness,  and  the 
breeze  that  fanned  Graham's  cheek  brought  no 
sense  of  chilliness.  The  sunset  hour,  with  its  spring 
beauty,  the  song  of  innumerable  birds,  and  espe- 
cially the  strains  of  a  wood-thrush,  that,  like  a  prima 
donna,  trilled  her  melody,  clear,  sweet,  and  distinct 
above  the  feathered  chorus,  penetrated  his  soul  with 
subtle  and  delicious  influences.  A  vague  longing 
for  something  he  had  never  known  or  felt,  for  some- 
thing that  books  had  never  taught,  or  experimental 
science  revealed,  throbbed  in  his  heart.  He  felt 
that  his  life  was  incomplete,  and  a  deeper  sense 
of  isolation  came  over  him  than  he  had  ever  ex- 
perienced in  foreign  cities  where  every  face  was 
strange.  Unconsciously  he  was  passing  under  the 
most  subtle  and  powerful  of  all  spells,  that  of 
spring,  when  the  impulse  to  mate  comes  not  to 
the  birds  alone. 

It  so  happened  that  he  was  in  just  the  condition 
to  succumb  to  this  influence.  His  mental  tension 
was  relaxed.  He  had  sat  down  by  the  wayside 
of  life  to  rest  awhile.  He  had  found  that  there  was 
no  need  that  he  should  bestir  himself  in  money- 
getting,  and  his  mind  refused  to  return  immediately 
to  the  deep  abstractions  of  science.  It  pleaded 
weariness  of  the  world  and  of  the  pros  and  cons  of 


1 6  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

conflicting  theories  and  questions.  He  admitted 
the  plea  and  said  : — 

"  My  mind  shall  rest,  and  for  a  few  days,  possibly 
weeks,  it  shall  be  passively  receptive  of  just  such  in- 
fluences as  nature  and  circumstances  chance  to  bring 
to  it.  Who  knows  but  that  I  may  gain  a  deeper  in- 
sight into  the  hidden  mysteries  than  if  I  were  delving 
among  the  dusty  tomes  of  a  university  library  ?  For 
some  reason  I  feel  to-night  as  if  I  could  look  at  that 
radiant,  fragrant  apple-tree  and  listen  to  the  lullaby 
of  the  birds  forever.  And  yet  their  songs  suggest  a 
thought  that  awakens  an  odd  pain  and  dissatisfac- 
tion. Each  one  is  singing  to  his  mate.  Each  one 
is  giving  expression  to  an  overflowing  fulness  and 
completeness  of  life  ;  and  never  before  have  I  felt 
my  life  so  incomplete  and  isolated. 

"  I  wish  Hilland  was  here.  He  is  such  a  true 
friend  that  his  silence  is  companionship,  and  his 
words  never  jar  discordantly.  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  miss  him  more  to-night  than  I  did  during  the 
first  days  after  his  departure.  It's  odd  that  I 
should.  I  wonder  if  the  friendship,  the  love  of  a 
woman  could  be  more  to  me  than  that  of  Hilland. 
What  was  that  paragraph  from  Emerson  that  once 
struck  me  so  forcibly?  My  aunt  is  a  woman  of 
solid  reading  ;  she  must  have  Emerson.  Yes,  here 
in  her  bookcase,  meagre  only  in  the  number  of 
volumes  it  contains,  is  what  I  want,"  and  he  turned 
the  leaves  rapidly  until  his  eyes  lighted  on  the 
following  passage  : — 

"  No  man  ever  forgot  the  visitations  of  that 
power   to    his    heart  .and    brain    which    created    all 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MAY.  17 

things  new  ;  which  was  the  dawn  in  him  of  music, 
poetry,  and  art  ;  which  made  the  face  of  nature 
radiant  with  purple  light,  the  morning  and  the  night 
varied  enchantments  ;  when  a  single  tone  of  one 
voice  could  make  the  heart  bound,  and  the  most 
trivial  circumstance  associated  with  one  form  was  put 
in  the  amber  of  memory  ;  when  he  became  all  eye 
when  one  was  present,  and  all  memory  when  one 
was  gone." 

"  Emerson  never  learned  that  at  a  university, 
German  or  otherwise.  He  writes  as  if  it  were  a 
common  human  experience,  and  yet  I  know  no 
more  about  it  than  of  the  sensations  of  a  man  who 
has  lost  an  arm.  I  suppose  losing  one's  heart  is 
much  the  same.  As  long  as  a  man's  limbs  are 
intact  he  is  scarcely  conscious  of  them,  but  when 
one  is  gone  it  troubles  him  all  the  time,  although 
it  isn't  there.  Now  when  Hilland  left  me  I  felt 
guilty  at  the  ease  with  which  I  could  forget  him  in 
the  library  and  laboratory.  I  did  not  become  all 
memory.  I  knew  he  was  my  best,  my  only  friend  ; 
he  is  still,  but  he  is  not  essential  to  my  life.  Clear- 
ly, according  to  Emerson,  I  am  as  ignorant  as  a 
child  of  one  of  the  deepest  experiences  of  life,  and 
very  probably  had  better  remain  so,  and  yet  the 
hour  is  playing  strange  tricks  with  my  fancy." 

Thus  it  may  be  perceived  that  Alford  Graham 
was  peculiarly  open  on  this  deceitful  May  evening, 
which  promised  peace  and  security,  to  the  impend- 
ing stroke  of  fate.  Its  harbinger  first  appeared 
in  the  form  of  a  white  Spitz  dog,  barking  viva- 
ciously under  the  apple-tree,  where  a  path  from  a 


1 8  UlS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

neighboring  residence  intersected  the  walk  leading 
from  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage  to  the  street.  Evi- 
dently some  one  was  playing  with  the  little  creature, 
and  was  pretending  to  be  kept  at  bay  by  its  bel- 
ligerent attitude.  Suddenly  there  was  a  rush  and 
a  flutter  of  white  draperies,  and  the  dog  retreated 
toward  Graham,  barking  with  still  greater  excite- 
ment. Then  the  young  man  saw  coming  up  the 
path  with  quick,  lithe  tread,  sudden  pauses,  and 
little  impetuous  dashes  at  her  canine  playmate,  a 
being  that  might  have  been  an  emanation  from  the 
radiant  apple-tree,  or,  rather,  the  human  embodi- 
ment of  the  blossoming  period  of  the  year.  Her 
low  wide  brow  and  her  neck  were  snowy  white,  and 
no  pink  petal  on  the  trees  above  her  could  surpass 
the  bloom  on  her  cheeks.  Her  large,  dark,  lustrous 
eyes  were  brimming  over  with  fun,  and  unconscious 
of  observation,  she  moved  with  the  natural,  unstud- 
ied grace  of  a  child. 

Graham  thought,  "  No  scene  of  nature  is  complete 
without  the  human  element,  and  now  the  very 
genius  of  the  hour  and  season  has  appeared  ;"  and  he 
hastily  concealed  himself  behind  the  curtains,  un- 
willing to  lose  one  glimpse  of  a  picture  that  made 
every  nerve  tingle  with  pleasure.  His  first  glance 
had  revealed  that  the  fair  vision  was  not  a  child,  but 
a  tall,  graceful  girl,  who  happily  had  not  yet  passed 
beyond  the  sportive  impulses  of  childhood. 

Every  moment  she  came  nearer,  until  at  last  she 
stood  opposite  the  window.  He  could  see  the  blue 
veins  branching  across  her  temples,  the  quick  rise 
and  fall  of  her  bosom,  caused  by  rather  violent  exer- 


AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  MA  V.  1 9 

tion,  the  wavy  outlines  of  light  brown  hair  that  was 
gathered  in  a  Greek  coil  at  the  back  of  the  shapely- 
head.  She  had  the  rare  combination  of  dark  eyes 
and  light  hair  which  made  the  lustre  of  her  eyes  all 
the  more  striking.  He  never  forgot  that  moment 
as  she  stood  panting  before  him  on  the  gravel  walk, 
her  girlhood's  grace  blending  so  harmoniously  with 
her  budding  womanhood.  For  a  moment  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  that  under  the  spell  of  the 
spring  evening  his  own  fancy  had  created  her,  and 
that  if  he  looked  away  and  turned  again  he  would 
see  nothing  but  the  pink  and  white  blossoms,  and 
hear  only  the  jubilant  song  of  the  birds. 

The  Spitz  dog,  however,  could  not  possibly  have 
any  such  unsubstantial  origin,  and  this  small  Cer- 
berus had  now  entered  the  room,  and  was  barking 
furiously  at  him  as  an  unrecognized  stranger.  A 
moment  later  his  vision  under  the  window  stood  in 
the  doorway.  The  sportive  girl  was  transformed  at 
once  into  a  well-bred  young  woman  who  remarked 
quietly, '  *  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  expected  to  find  Mrs. 
Mayburn  here  ;"  and  she  departed  to  search  for  that 
lady  through  the  house  with  a  prompt  freedom 
which  suggested  relations  of  the  most  friendly 
intimacy. 


CHAPTER   II. 

MERE    FANCIES. 

GRAHAM'S  disposition  to  make  his  aunt  a  visit 
was  not  at  all  chilled  by  the  discovery  that  she 
had  so  fair  a  neighbor.  He  was  conscious  of  little 
more  than  an  impulse  to  form  the  acquaintance  of 
one  who  might  give  a  peculiar  charm  and  piquancy 
to  his  May-day  vacation,  and  enrich  him  with  an 
experience  that  had  been  wholly  wanting  in  his 
secluded  and  studious  life.  With  a  smile  he  per- 
mitted the  fancy — for  he  was  in  a  mood  for  all  sorts 
of  fancies  on  this  evening — that  if  this  girl  could 
teach  him  to  interpret  Emerson's  words,  he  would 
make  no  crabbed  resistance.  And  yet  the  remote 
possibility  of  such  an  event  gave  him  a  sense  of 
security,  and  prompted  him  all  the  more  to  yield 
himself  for  the  first  time  to  whatever  impressions  a 
young  and  pretty  woman  might  be  able  to  make 
upon  him.  His  very  disposition  toward  experiment 
and  analysis  inclined  him  to  experiment  with  him- 
self. Thus  it  would  seem  that  even  the  perfect  even- 
ing, and  the  vision  that  had  emerged  from  under  the 
apple-boughs,  could  not  wholly  banish  a  tendency 
to  give  a  scientific  cast  to  the  mood  and  fancies  of 
the  hour. 


MERE  FANCIES.  21 

His  aunt  now  summoned  him  to  the  supper-room, 
where  he  was  formally  introduced  to  Miss  Grace 
St.  John,  with  whom  his  first  meal  under  his  rela- 
tive's roof  was  destined  to  be  taken. 

As  may  naturally  be  supposed,  Graham  was  not 
well  furnished  with  small  talk,  and  while  he  had  not 
the  proverbial  shyness  and  awkwardness  of  the 
student,  he  was  somewhat  silent  because  he  knew 
not  what  to  say.  The  young  guest  was  entirely  at 
her  ease,  and  her  familiarity  with  the  hostess  en- 
abled her  to  chat  freely  and  naturally  on  topics  of 
mutual  interest,  thus  giving  Graham  time  for  those 
observations  to  which  all  are  inclined  when  meeting 
one  who  has  taken  a  sudden  and  strong  hold  upon 
the  attention. 

He  speedily  concluded  that  she  could  not  be  less 
than  nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  and  that  she 
was  not  what  he  would  term  a  society  girl, — a  type 
that  he  had  learned  to  recognize  from  not  a  few 
representatives  of  his  countrywomen  whom  he  had 
seen  abroad,  rather  than  from  much  personal  ac- 
quaintance. It  should  not  be  understood  that  he 
had  shunned  society  altogether,  and  his  position 
had  ever  entitled  him  to  enter  the  best  ;  but  the 
young  women  whom  it  had  been  his  fortune  to 
meet  had  failed  to  interest  him  as  completely  as  he 
had  proved  himself  a  bore  to  them.  Their  worlds 
were  too  widely  separated  for  mutual  sympathy  ; 
and  after  brief  excursions  among  the  drawing-rooms 
to  which  Hilland  had  usually  dragged  him,  he  re- 
turned to  his  books  with  a  deeper  satisfaction  and 
content.     Would  his    acquaintance  with    Miss  St. 


22  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

John  lead  to  a  like  result  ?  He  was  watching  and 
waiting  to  see,  and  she  had  the  advantage— if  it 
was  an  advantage — of  making  a  good  first  impres- 
sion. 

Every  moment  increased  this  predisposition  in 
her  favor.  She  must  have  known  that  she  was  very 
attractive,  for  few  girls  reach  her  age  without  attain- 
ing such  knowledge  ;  but  her  'observer,  and  in  a 
certain  sense  her  critic,  could  not  detect  the  faint- 
est trace  of  affectation  or  self-consciousness.  Her 
manner,  her  words,  and  even  their  accent  seemed 
unstudied,  unpractised,  and  unmodelled  after  any 
received  type.  Her  glance  was  peculiarly  open  and 
direct,  and  from  the  first  she  gave  Graham  the 
feeling  that  she  was  one  who  might  be  trusted  ab- 
solutely. That  she  had  tact  and  kindliness  also  was 
evidenced  by  the  fact  that  she  did  not  misunderstand 
or  resent  his  comparative  silence.  At  first,  after 
learning  that  he  had  lived  much  abroad,  her  manner 
toward  him  had  been  a  little  shy  and  wary,  indi- 
cating that  she  may  have  surmised  that  his  reticence 
was  the  result  of  a  certain  kind  of  superiority  which 
travelled  men — especially  young  men--often  assume 
when  meeting  those  whose  lives  are  supposed  to 
have  a  narrow  horizon  ;  but  she  quickly  discovered 
that  Graham  had  no  foreign-bred  pre-eminence  to 
parade, — that  he  wanted  to  talk  with  her  if  he  could 
only  find  some  common  subject  of  interest.  This 
she  supplied  by  taking  him  to  ground  with  which 
he  was  perfectly  familiar,  for  she  asked  him  to  tell 
her  something  about  university  life  in  Germany. 
On  such  a  theme  he  could  converse  well,  and  be- 


MERE  FANCIES.  23 

fore  long  a  fire  of  eager  questions  proved  that  he 
had  not  only  a  deeply  interested  listener  but  also  a 
very  intelligent  one. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  smiled  complacently,  for  she  had 
some  natural  desire  that  her  nephew  should  make  a 
favorable  impression.  In  regard  to  Miss  St.  John 
she  had  long  ceased  to  have  any  misgivings,  and 
the  approval  that  she  saw  in  Graham's  eyes  was 
expected  as  a  matter  of  course.  This  approval  she 
soon  developed  into  positive  admiration  by  leading 
her  favorite  to  speak  of  her  own  past. 

"  Grace,  you  must  know,  Alford,  is  the  daughter 
of  an  army  officer,  and  has  seen  some  odd  phases  of 
life  at  the  various  military  stations  where  her  father 
has  been  on  duty." 

These  words  piqued  Graham's  curiosity  at  once, 
and  he  became  the  questioner.  His  own  frank 
effort  to  entertain  was  now  rewarded,  and  the 
young  girl,  possessing  easy  and  natural  powers  of 
description,  gave  sketches  of  life  at  military  posts 
which  to  Graham  had  more  than  the  charm  of 
novelty.  Unconsciously  she  was  accounting  for 
herself.  In  the  refined  yet  unconventional  society 
of  officers  and  their  wives  she  had  acquired  the 
frank  manner  so  peculiarly  her  own.  But  the  char- 
acteristic which  won  Graham's  interest  most  strong- 
ly was  her  abounding  mirthfulness.  It  ran  through 
all  her  words  like  a  golden  thread.  The  instinctive 
craving  of  every  nature  is  for  that  which  supple- 
ments itself,  and  Graham  found  something  so  genial 
in  Miss  St.  John's  ready  smile  and  laughing  eyes, 
which  suggested  an  over-full  fountain  of  joyousness 


24  HIS   SOMBRE   lUVALS. 

within,  that  his  heart,  chilled  and  repressed  from 
childhood,  began  to  give  signs  of  its  existence,  even 
during  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance.  It  is 
true,  as  we  have  seen,  that  he  was  in  a  very  re- 
ceptive condition,  but  then  a  smile,  a  glance  that 
is  like  warm  sunshine,  is  never  devoid  of  power. 

The  long  May  twilight  had  faded,  and  they  were 
still  lingering  over  the  supper-table,  when  a  middle- 
aged  colored  woman  in  a  flaming  red  turban  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  and  said,  "  Pardon,  Mis' 
Mayburn  ;  I'se  a  hopin*  you'll  'scuse  me.  I  jes  step 
over  to  tell  Miss  Grace  dat  de  major's  po'ful  oneasy, 
— 'spected  you  back  afo'." 

The  girl  arose  with  alacrity,  saying,  "  Mr. 
Graham,  you  have  brought  me  into  danger,  and 
must  now  extricate  me.  Papa  is  an  inveterate 
whist-player,  and  you  have  put  my  errand  here 
quite  out  of  my  mind.  I  didn't  come  for  the  sake 
of  your  delicious  muffins  altogether," — with  a  nod, 
at  her  hostess  ;  "  our  game  has  been  broken  up,  you 
know,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  by  the  departure  of  Mrs. 
Weeks  and  her  daughter.  You  have  often  played 
a  good  hand  with  us,  and  papa  thought  you  would 
come  over  this  evening,  and  that  you,  from  your 
better  acquaintance  with  our  neighbors,  might  know 
of  some  one  who  enjoyed  the  game  sufficiently  to 
Join  us  quite  often.  Mr.  Graham,  you  must  be  the 
one  I  am  seeking.  A  gentleman  versed  in  the 
lore  of  two  continents  certainly  understands  whist, 
or,  at  least,  can  penetrate  its  mysteries  at  a  single 
sitting." 

"  Suppose  I  punish  the  irony  of  your  concluding 


MERE   FANCIES.  25 

words,"  Graham  replied,  "by  saying  that  I  know 
just  enough  about  the  game  to  be  aware  how  much 
skill  is  required  to  play  with  such  a  veteran  as  your 
father." 

"  If  you  did  you  would  punish  papa  also,  who  is 
innocent." 

"  That  cannot  be  thought  of,  although,  in  truth, 
I  play  but  an  indifferent  game.  If  you  will  make 
amends  by  teaching  me  I  will  try  to  perpetrate  as 
few  blunders  as  possible." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  forget.  You  are  to  make 
amends  for  keeping  me  talking  here,  forgetful  of 
filial  duty,  by  giving  me  a  chance  to  teach  you. 
You  are  to  be  led  meekly  in  as  a  trophy  by  which 
I  am  to  propitiate  my  stern  parent,  who  has  military 
ideas  of  promptness  and  obedience." 

"  What  if  he  should  place  me  under  arrest  ?" 

"  Then  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  I  will  become  your 
jailers,  and  we  shall  keep  you  here  until  you  are 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  whist-players  in  the 
land." 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  stand  guard  over  me 
some  of  the  time  I  will  submit  to  any  conditions." 

"  You  are  already  making  one  condition,  and  may 
think  of  a  dozen  more.  It  will  be  better  to  parole 
you  with  the  understanding  that  you  are  to  put  in 
an  appearance  at  the  hour  for  whist;"  and  with 
similar  light  talk  they  went  down  the  walk  under 
the  apple-boughs,  whence  in  Graham's  fancy  the 
fair  girl  had  had  her  origin.  As  they  passed 
under  the  shadow  he  saw  the  dusky  outline  of  a 
rustic  seat  leaning  against  the  bole  of  the  tree,  and 


26  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

he  wondered  if  he  should  ever  induce  his  present 
guide  through  the  darkened  paths  to  come  there 
some  moonlight  evening,  and  listen  to  the  fancies 
which  her  unexpected  appearance  had  occasioned. 
The  possibility  of  such  an  event  in  contrast  with  its 
far  greater  improbability  caused  him  to  sigh,  and 
then  he  smiled  broadly  at  himself  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

When  they  had  passed  a  clump  of  evergreens,  a 
lighted  cottage  presented  itself,  and  Miss  St.  John 
sprang  lightly  up  the  steps,  pushed  open  the  hall 
door,  and  cried  through  the  open  entrance  to  a  cosey 
apartment,  "  No  occasion  for  hostilities,  papa.  I 
have  made  a  capture  that  gives  the  promise  of 
whist  not  only  this  evening  but  also  for  several  more 
to  come." 

As  Graham  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  entered,  a  tall, 
white-haired  man  lifted  his  foot  from  off  a  cushion, 
and  rose  with  some  little  difficulty,  but  having 
gained  his  feet,  his  bearing  was  erect  and  soldier- 
like, and  his  courtesy  perfect,  although  toward 
Mrs.  Mayburn  it  was  tinged  with  the  gallantry  of 
a  former  generation.  Some  brief  explanations  fol- 
lowed, and  then  Major  St.  John  turned  upon  Graham 
the  dark  eyes  which  his  daughter  had  inherited,  and 
which  seemed  all  the  more  brilliant  in  contrast  with 
his  frosty  eyebrows,  and  said  genially,  "It  is  very 
kind  of  you  to  be  willing  to  aid  in  beguiling  an 
old  man's  tedium."  Turning  to  his  daughter  he 
added  a  little  querulously,  "  There  must  be  a  storm 
brewing,  Grace,"  and  he  drew  in  his  breath  as  if 
in  pain. 


MERE   FANCIES.  27 

"  Does  your  wound  trouble  you  to-night,  papa  ?" 
she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes,  just  as  it  always  does  before  a  storm." 

"It  is  perfectly  clear  without,"  she  resumed. 
"  Perhaps  the  room  has  become  a  little  cold.  The 
evenings  are  still  damp  and  chilly  ;"  and  she  threw 
two  or  three  billets  of  wood  on  the  open  fire,  kin- 
dling a  blaze  that  sprang  cheerily  up  the  chim- 
ney. 

The  room  seemed  to  be  a  combination  of  parlor 
and  library,  and  it  satisfied  Graham's  ideal  of  a 
living  apartment.  Easy-chairs  of  various  patterns 
stood  here  and  there  and  looked  as  if  constructed 
by  the  very  genius  of  comfort.  A  secretary  in  the 
corner  near  a  window  was  open,  suggesting  absent 
friends  and  the  pleasure  of  writing  to  them  amid 
such  agreeable  surroundings.  Again  Graham  que- 
ried, prompted  by  the  peculiar  influences  that  had 
gained  the  mastery  on  this  tranquil  but  eventful 
evening,  "  Will  Miss  St.  John  ever  sit  there  penning 
words  straight  from  her  heart  to  me  ?" 

He  was  brought  back  to  prose  and  reality  by  the 
major.  Mrs.  Mayburn  had  been  condoling  with 
him,  and  he  now  turned  and  said,  "  I  hope,  my 
dear  sir,  that  you  may  never  carry  around  such  a 
barometer  as  I  am  afflicted  with.  A  man  with  an 
infirmity  grows  a  little  egotistical,  if  not  worse." 

"  You  have  much  consolation,  sir,  in  remembering 
how  you  came  by  your  infirmity,"  Graham  replied. 
"  Men  bearing  such  proofs  of  service  to  their  coun- 
try are  not  plentiful  in  our  money-getting  land." 

His  daughter's  laugh   rang  out   musically  as  she 


28  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

cried,  "  That  was  meant  to  be  a  fine  stroke  of 
diplomacy.  Papa,  you  will  now  have  to  pardon  a 
score  of  blunders." 

"  I  have  as  yet  no  proof  that  any  will  be  made," 
the  major  remarked,  and  in  fact  Graham  had  un- 
derrated his  acquaintance  with  the  game.  He 
was  quite  equal  to  his  aunt  in  proficiency,  and 
with  Miss  St.  John  for  his  partner  he  was  on  his 
mettle.  He  found  her  skilful  indeed,  quick,  pene- 
trating, and  possessed  of  an  excellent  memory. 
They  held  their  own  so  well  that  the  major's  spirits 
rose  hourly.  He  forgot  his  wound  in  the  complete 
absorption  of  his  favorite  recreation. 

As  opportunity  occurred  Graham  could  not  keep 
his  eyes  from  wandering  here  and  there  about  the 
apartment  that  had  so  taken  his  fancy,  especially  at 
the  large  and  well-filled  bookcase  and  some  pictures, 
which,  if  not  very  expensive,  had  evidently  been 
the  choice  of  a  cultivated  taste. 

They  were  brought  to  a  consciousness  of  the  flight 
of  time  by  a  clock  chiming  out  the  hour  of  eleven, 
and  the  old  soldier  with  a  sigh  of  regret  saw  Mrs. 
Mayburn  rise.  Miss  St.  John  touched  a  silver  bell, 
and  a  moment  later  the  same  negress  who  had 
reminded  her  of  her  father's  impatience  early  in  the 
evening  entered  with  a  tray  bearing  a  decanter  of 
wine,  glasses,  and  some  wafer-like  cakes. 

"  Have  I  earned  the  indulgence  of  a  glance  at 
your  books?"  Graham  asked. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Miss  St.  John  replied;  "your 
martyr-like  submission  shall  be  further  rewarded  by 
permission  to  borrow  any  of  them  while  in  town. 


MERE   FANCIES.  29 

I  doubt,  however,  if  you  will  find  them  profound 
enough  for  your  taste." 

"  I  shall  take  all  point  from  your  irony  by  asking 
if  you  think  one  can  relish  nothing  but  intellectual 
roast  beef.  I  am  enjoying  one  of  your  delicate 
cakes.     You  must  have  an  excellent  cook." 

"  Papa  says  he  has,  in  the  line  of  cake  and  pastry  ; 
but  then  he  is  partial." 

"  What  !  did  you  make  them  ?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  O,  I'm  not  objecting.  Did  my  manners  per- 
mit, I'd  empty  the  plate.  Still,  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  young  ladies  were  not  adepts  in  this 
sort  of  thing." 

"  You  have  been  abroad  so  long  that  you  may 
have  to  revise  many  of  your  impressions.  Of  course 
retired  army  officers  are  naturally  in  a  condition  to 
import  chefs  de  cuisine,  but  then  we  like  to  keep  up 
the  idea  of  republican  simplicity." 

"  Could  you  be  so  very  kind  as  to  induce  your 
father  to  ask  me  to  make  one  of  your  evening  quar- 
tette as  often  as  possible  ?" 

"  The  relevancy  of  that  request  is  striking.  Was 
it  suggested  by  the  flavor  of  the  cakes  ?  I  some- 
times forget  to  make  them." 

"  Their  absence  would  not  prevent  my  taste  from 
being  gratified  if  you  will  permit  me  to  come. 
Here  is  a  marked  volume  of  Emerson's  works.  May 
I  take  it  for  a  day  or  two  ?" 

She  blushed  slightly,  hesitated  perceptibly,  and 
then  said,  "  Yes." 

"Alford,"  broke  in  his  aunt,  "  you  students  have 


30  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

the  name  of  being  great  owls,  but  for  an  old  woman 
of  my  regular  habits  it's  getting  late." 

"  My  daughter  informs  me,"  the  major  remarked 
to  Graham  in  parting,  "  that  we  may  be  able  to 
induce  you  to  take  a  hand  with  us  quite  often.  If 
you  should  ever  become  as  old  and  crippled  as 
I  am  you  will  know  how  to  appreciate  such  kind- 
ness." 

"  Indeed,  sir.  Miss  St.  John  must  testify  that  I 
asked  to  share  your  game  as  a  privilege.  I  can 
scarcely  remember  to  have  passed  so  pleasant  an 
evening." 

"  Mrs.  Mayburn,  do  try  to  keep  him  in  this 
amiable  frame  of  mind,"  cried  the  girl. 

"  I  think  I  shall  need  your  aid,"  said  that  lady, 
with  a  smile.  "  Come,  Alford,  it  is  next  to  im- 
possible to  get  you  away." 

"  Papa's  unfortunate  barometer  will  prove  cor- 
rect, I  fear,"  said  Miss  St.  John,  following  them 
out  on  the  piazza,  for  a  thin  scud  was  already  veil- 
ing the  stars,  and  there  was  an  ominous  moan  of  the 
wind. 

"To-morrow  will  be  a  stormy  day,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  prided  herself  on  her  weather 
wisdom. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Miss  St.  John  continued,  "  for  it 
will  spoil  our  fairy  world  of  blossoms,  and  I  am  still 
more  sorry  for  papa's  sake." 

"  Should  the  day  prove  a  long,  dismal,  rainy 
one,"  Graham  ventured,  "  may  1  not  come  over 
and  help  entertain  your  father.?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly.    "  It  cannot  seem 


MERE   FANCIES.  3 1 

strange  to  you  that  time  should  often  hang  heavily 
on  his  hands,  and  I  am  grateful  to  any  one  who  helps 
me  to  enliven  his  hours." 

Before  Graham  repassed  under  the  apple-tree 
boughs  he  had  fully  decided  to  win  at  least  Miss  St. 
John's  gratitude. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE   VERDICT   OF  A   SAGE. 

WHEN  Graham  reached  his  room  he  was  in  no 
mood  for  sleep.  At  first  he  lapsed  into  a 
long  revery  over  the  events  of  the  evening,  trivial 
in  themselves,  and  yet  for  some  reason  holding  a 
controlling  influence  over  his  thoughts.  Miss  St. 
John  was  a  new  revelation  of  womanhood  to  him, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  his  heart  had  been 
stirred  by  a  woman's  tones  and  glances.  A  deep 
chord  in  his  nature  vibrated  when  she  spoke  and 
smiled.  What  did  it  mean  ?  He  had  followed  his 
impulse  to  permit  this  stranger  to  make  any  impres- 
sion within  her  power,  and  he  found  that  she  had 
decidedly  interested  him.  As  he  tried  to  analyze 
her  power  he  concluded  that  it  lay  chiefly  in  the 
mirthfulness,  the  joyousness  of  her  spirit.  She 
quickened  his  cool,  deliberate  pulse.  Her  smile  was 
not  an  affair  of  facial  muscles,  but  had  a  vivifying 
warmth.  It  made  him  suspect  that  his  life  was 
becoming  cold  and  self-centred,  that  he  was  missing 
the  deepest  and  best  experiences  of  an  existence  that 
was  brief  indeed  at  best  and,  as  he  believed,  soon 
ceased  forever.     The  love  of   study  and  ambition 


THE    VERDICT  OF  A    SAGE.  ^t^ 

had  sufficed  thus  far,  but  actuated  by  his  own 
materialistic  creed  he  was  bound  to  make  the  most 
of  life  while  it  lasted.  According  to  Emerson  he 
was  as  yet  but  in  the  earlier  stages  of  evolution,  and 
his  highest  manhood  wholly  undeveloped.  Had 
not  "  music,  poetry,  and  art"  dawned  in  his  mind  ? 
Was  nature  but  a  mechanism  after  whose  laws  he 
had  been  groping  like  an  anatomist  who  finds  in  the 
God-like  form  bone  and  tissue  merely  ?  As  he  had 
sat  watching  the  sunset  a  few  hours  previous,  the 
element  of  beauty  had  been  present  to  him  as  never 
before.  Could  this  sense  of  beauty  become  so  en- 
larged that  the  world  would  be  transfigured,"  radiant 
with  purple  light"  }  Morning  had  often  brought  to 
him  weariness  from  sleepless  hours  during  which  he 
had  racked  his  brain  over  problems  too  deep  for 
him,  and  evening  had  found  him  still  baffled,  dis- 
appointed, and  disposed  to  ask  in  view  of  his  toil, 
Cui  bono  ?  What  ground  had  Emerson  for  saying 
that  these  same  mornings  and  evenings  might  be 
filled  with  "  varied  enchantments"  ?  The  reason, 
the  cause  of  these  unknown  conditions  of  life  was 
given  unmistakably.  The  Concord  sage  had  vir- 
tually asserted  that  he,  Alford  Graham,  would  never 
truly  exist  until  his  one-sided  masculine  nature  had 
been  supplemented  by  the  feminine  soul  which  alone 
could  give  to  his  being  completeness  and  the  power 
to  attain  his  full  development. 

"  Well,"  he  soliloquized,  laughing,  "I  have  not 
been  aware  that  hitherto  I  have  been  only  a  mol- 
lusk,  a  polyp  of  a  man.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
Emerson's  '  Pegasus  '  took  the  bit, — got  the  better 


34  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

of  him  on  one  occasion  ;  but  if  there  is  any  truth  in 
what  he  writes  it  might  not  be  a  bad  idea  to  try  a 
little  of  the  kind  of  evolution  that  he  suggests  and 
see  what  comes  of  it.  I  am  already  confident  that 
I  could  see  infinitely  more  than  I  do  if  I  could  look 
at  the  world  through  Miss  St.  John's  eyes  as  well 
as  my  own,  but  1  run  no  slight  risk  in  obtaining 
that  vision.  Her  eyes  are  stars  that  must  have 
drawn  worshippers,  not  only  from  the  east,  but  from 
every  point  of  the  compass.  I  should  b.e  in  a  sorry 
plight  if  I  should  become  *  all  memory,*  and  from 
my  fair  divinity  receive  as  sole  response,  '  Please 
forget.'  If  the  philosopher  could  guarantee  that 
she  also  would  be  '  all  eye  and  all  memory,'  one 
might  indeed  covet  Miss  St.  John  as  the  teacher  of 
the  higher  mysteries.  Life  is  not  very  exhilarating 
at  best,  but  for  a  man  to  set  his  heart  on  such  a 
woman  as  this  girl  promises  to  be,  and  then  be 
denied, — why, 'he  had  better  remain  a  polyp.  Come, 
come,  Alford  Graham,  you  have  had  your  hour 
of  sentiment, — out  of  deference  to  Mr.  Emerson  I 
won't  call  it  weakness, — and  it's  time  you  remem- 
bered that  you  are  a  comparatively  poor  man,  that 
Miss  St.  John  has  already  been  the  choice  of  a 
score  at  least,  and  probably  has  made  her  own 
choice.  I  shall  therefore  permit  no  delusions  and 
the  growth  of  no  false  hopes." 

Having  reached  this  prudent  conclusion,  Graham 
yawned,  smiled  at  the  unwonted  mood  in  which  he 
had  indulged,  and  with  the  philosophic  purpose  of 
finding  an  opiate  in  the  pages  that  had  contained 
one  paragraph  rather  too  exciting,  he  took  up  the 


THE    VERDICT  OF  A    SAGE.  35 

copy  of  Emerson  that  he  had  borrowed.  The  book 
fell  open,  indicating  that  some  one  had  often  turned 
to  the  pages  before  him.  One  passage  was  strongly 
marked  on  either  side  and  underscored.  With  a 
laugh  he  saw  that  it  was  the  one  he  had  been  dwell- 
ing upon, — "  No  man  ever  forgot,"  etc. 

."  Now  I  know  why  she  blushed  slightly  and 
hesitated  to  lend  me  this  volume,"  he  thought. 
"  I  suppose  I  may  read  in  this  instance,  '  No  woman 
ever  forgot. '  Of  course,  it  would  be  strange  if  she 
had  not  learned  to  understand  these  words.  What 
else  has  she  marked  ?" 

Here  and  there  were  many  delicate  marginal  lines 
indicating  approval  and  interest,  but  they  were  so 
delicate  as  to  suggest  that  the  strong  scoring  of  the 
significant  passage  was  not  the  work  of  Miss  St. 
John,  but  rather  of  some  heavy  masculine  hand. 
This  seemed  to  restore  the  original  reading,  "  No 
man  ever  forgot,"  and  some  man  had  apparently 
tried  to  inform  her  by  his  emphatic  lines  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  forget. 

"  Well,  suppose  he  does  not  and  cannot,"  Graham 
mused.  "  That  fact  places  her  under  no  obligations 
to  be  '  all  eye  and  memory'  for  him.  And  yet  her 
blush  and  hesitancy  and  the  way  the  book  falls  open 
at  this  passage  look  favorable  for  him.  I  can  win 
her  gratitude  by  amusing  the  old  major,  and  with 
that,  no  doubt,  I  should  have  to  be  content." 

This  limitation  of  his  chances  caused  Graham  so 
little  solicitude  that  he  was  soon  sleeping  soundly. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

WARNING   OR   INCENTIVE  ? 

THE  next  morning  proved  that  the  wound  which 
Major  St.  John  had  received  in  the  Mexican 
war  was  a  correct  barometer.  From  a  leaden,  low- 
ering sky  the  rain  fell  steadily,  and  a  chilly  wind 
was  fast  dismantling  the  trees  of  their  blossoms. 
The  birds  had  suspended  their  nest-building,  and 
but  few  had  the  heart  to  sing. 

"  You  seem  to  take  a  very  complacent  view  of 
the  dreary  prospect  without,"  Mrs.  Mayburn  re- 
marked, as  Graham  came  smilingly  into  the  break- 
fast-room and  greeted  her  with  a  cheerful  note  in 
his  tones.  "  Such  a  day  as  this  means  rheumatism 
for  me  and  an  aching  leg  for  Major  St.  John." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  aunt,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
cannot  help  remembering  also  that  it  is  not  alto- 
gether an  ill  wind,  for  it  will  blow  me  over  into  a 
cosey  parlor  and  very  charming  society, — that  is,  if 
Miss  St.  John  will  give  me  a  little  aid  in  entertain- 
ing her  father." 

"  So  we  old  people  don't  count  for  anything." 

"That  doesn't  follow  at  all.  I  would  do  any- 
thing in  my  power  to  banish  your  rheumatism  and 


WARNING    OR   INCENTIVE  ?  37 

the  major's  twinges,  but  how  was  it  with  you  both 
at  my  age  ?  I  can  answer  for  the  major.  If  at  that 
time  he  knew  another  major  with  such  a  daughter 
as  blesses  his  home,  his  devotion  to  the  preceding 
veteran  was  a  Httle  mixed." 

"  Are  you  so  taken  by  Miss  St.  John  ?" 

"  I  have  not  the  shghtest  hope  of  being  taken  by 
her." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  wished  to  suggest  my  modest  hopes 
and  expectations  so  that  you  may  have  no  anxieties 
if  I  avail  myself,  during  my  visit,  of  the  chance  of 
seeing  what  I  can  of  an  unusually  fine  girl.  Ac- 
quaintance with  such  society  is  the  part  of  my  edu- 
cation most  sadly  neglected.  Nevertheless,  you  will 
find  me  devotedly  at  your  service  whenever  you 
will  express  your  wishes." 

"  Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  disposed  to  find 
fault.  Grace  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine.  She  is  a 
good  old-fashioned  girl,  not  one  of  your  vain,  heart- 
less, selfish  creatures  with  only  a  veneer  of  good 
breeding.  I  see  her  almost  every  day,  either  here 
or  in  her  own  home,  and  I  know  her  well.  You 
have  seen  that  she  is  fitted  to  shine  anywhere,  but 
it  is  for  her  home  qualities  that  I  love  and  admire 
her  most.  Her  father  is  crippled  and  querulous  ; 
indeed  he  is  often  exceedingly  irritable.  Every- 
thing must  please  him  or  else  he  is  inclined  to  storm 
as  he  did  in  his  regiment,  and  occasionally  he  em- 
phasizes his  words  without  much  regard  to  the  third 
commandment.  But  his  gusts  of  anger  are  over 
quickly,  and  a  kinder-hearted  and  more  upright  man 


3^  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

never  lived.  Of  course  American  servants  won't 
stand  harsh  words.  They  want  to  do  all  the  fault- 
finding, and  the  poor  old  gentleman  would  have  a 
hard  time  of  it  were  it  not  for  Grace.  She  knows 
how  to  manage  both  him  and  them,  and  that  colored 
woman  you  saw  wouldn't  leave  him  if  he  beat  and 
swore  at  her  every  day.  She  was  a  slave  in  the  fam- 
ily of  Grace's  mother,  who  was  a  Southern  lady,  and 
the  major  gave  the  poor  creature  her  liberty  when 
he  brought  his  wife  to  the  North.  Grace  is  sunshine 
embodied.  She  makes  her  old,  irritable,  and  some- 
times gouty  father  happy  in  spite  of  himself.  It 
was  just  like  her  to  accept  of  your  offer  last  evening, 
for  to  banish  all  dulness  from  her  father's  life  seems 
her  constant  thought.  So  if  you  wish  to  grow  in 
the  young  lady's  favor  don't  be  so  attentive  to  her 
as  to  neglect  the  old  gentleman." 

Graham  listened  to  this  good-natured  gossip  with 
decided  interest,  feeling  that  it  contained  valuable 
suggestions.  The  response  seemed  scarcely  relevant. 
"  When  is  she  to  be  married  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Married  !" 

"Yes.  It  is  a  wonder  that  such  a  paragon  has 
escaped  thus  long." 

"  You  have  lived  abroad  too  much,"  said  his  aunt 
satirically.  "  American  girls  are  not  married  out  of 
hand  at  a  certain  age.  They  marry  when  they 
please  or  not  at  all  if  they  please.  Grace  easily 
escapes  marriage." 

"  Not  from  want  of  suitors,  I'm  sure." 

"  You  are  right  there." 

"  How  then?" 


WARNING   OR   INCENTIVE?  39 

"  By  saying,  '  No,  I  thank  you.'  You  can  easily 
learn  how  very  effectual  such  a  quiet  negative  is,  if 
you  choose." 

' '  Indeed  !  Am  I  such  a  very  undesirable  party  ?' ' 
said  Graham,  laughing,  for  he  heartily  enjoyed  his 
aunt's  brusque  way  of  talking,  having  learned  al- 
ready the  kindliness  it  masked. 

"  Not  in  my  eyes.  I  can't  speak  for  Grace. 
She'd  marry  you  if  she  loved  you,  and  were  you 
the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias  you  wouldn't  have  the 
ghost  of  a  chance  unless  she  did.  I  know  that  she 
has  refused  more  than  one  fortune.  She  seerris 
perfectly  content  to  live  with  her  father,  until  the 
one  prince  having  the  power  to  awaken  her  ap- 
pears. When  he  comes  rest  assured  she'll  follow 
him,  and  also  be  assured  that  she'll  take  her  father 
with  her,  and  to  a  selfish,  exacting  Turk  of  a  hus- 
band he  might  prove  an  old  man  of  the  sea.  And 
yet  I  doubt  it.  Grace  would  manage  any  one.  Not 
that  she  has  much  management  either.  She  simply 
laughs,  smiles,  and  talks  every  one  into  good  humor. 
Her  mirthfulness,  her  own  happiness,  is  so  genuine 
that  it  is  contagious.  Suppose  you  exchange  duties 
and  ask  her  to  come  over  and  enliven  me  while  you 
entertain  her  father,"  concluded  the  old  lady  mis- 
chievously. 

"  I  would  not  dare  to  face  such  a  fiery  veteran  as 
you  have  described  alone." 

"  I  knew  you  would  have  some  excuse.  Well, 
be  on  your  guard.  Grace  will  make  no  effort  to 
capture  you,  and  therefore  you  will  be  in  all  the 
more  danger  of  being  captured.     If  you  lose  your 


40  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

heart  in  vain  to  her  you  will  need  more  than  German 
philosophy  to  sustain  you." 

"  I  have  already  made  to  myself  in  substance  your 
last  remark." 

"  I  know  you  are  not  a  lady's  man,  and  perhaps 
for  that  very  reason  you  are  all  the  more  liable  to  an 
acute  attack." 

Graham  laughed  as  he  rose  from  the  table,  and 
asked,  "  Should  I  ever  venture  to  lay  siege  to  Miss 
St.  John,  would  I  not  have  your  blessing?" 

"  Yes,  and  more  than  my  blessing." 
What  do  you  mean  by  more  than  your  blessing  ?' ' 

"  I  shall  not  commit  myself  until  you  commit 
yourself,  and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  even  the 
first  step  without  appreciating  the  risk  of  the  ven- 
ture." 

**  Why,  bless  you,  aunt,"  said  Graham,  now 
laughing  heartily,  "how  seriously  you  take  it  !  ,  I 
have  spent  but  one  evening  with  the  girl." 

The  old  lady  nodded  her  head  significantly  as  she 
replied,  "  I  have  not  lived  to  my  time  of  life  with- 
out learning  a  thing  or  two.  My  memory  also  has 
not  failed  as  yet.  There  were  young  men  who 
looked  at  me  once  just  as  you  looked  at  Grace  last 
evening,  and  I  know  what  came  of  it  in  more  than 
one  instance.  You  are  safe  now,  and  you  may  be 
invulnerable,  although  it  does  not  look  like  it  ;  but 
if  you  can  see  much  of  Grace  St.  John  and  remain 
untouched  you  are  unlike  most  men." 

"  I  have  always  had  the  name  of  being  that,  you 
know.  But  as  the  peril  is  so  great  had  I  not  better 
fly  at  once  ?" 


WARNING  OR  INCENTIVE?  41 

**  Yes,  I  think  we  both  have  had  the  name  of 
being  a  httle  peculiar,  and  my  brusque,  direct  way 
of  coming  right  to  the  point  is  one  of  my  peculiari- 
ties. I  am  very  intimate  with  the  St.  Johns,  and 
am  almost  as  fond  of  Grace  as  if  she  were  my  own 
child.  So  of  course  you  can  see  a  great  deal  of  her 
if  you  wish,  and  this  arrangement  about  whist  will 
add  to  your  opportunities.  I  know  what  young 
men  are,  and  I  know  too  what  often  happens  when 
their  faces  express  as  much  admiration  and  interest 
as  yours  did  last  night.  What's  more,"  continued 
the  energetic  old  lady  with  an  emphatic  tap  on  the 
floor  with  her  foot,  and  a  decided  nod  of  her  head, 
"if  I  were  a  young  man,  Grace  would  have  to 
marry  some  one  else  to  get  rid  of  me.  Now  I've 
had  my  say,  and  my  conscience  is  clear,  whatever 
happens.  As  to  flight,  why,  you  must  settle  that 
question,  but  I  am  sincere  and  cordial  in  my  request 
that  you  make  your  home  with  me  until  you  decide 
upon  your  future  course." 

Graham  was  touched,  and  he  took  his  aunt's  hand 
as  he  said,  "■  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness,  and 
more  than  all  for  your  downright  sincerity.  When 
I  came  here  it  was  to  make  but  a  formal  call. 
With  the  exception  of  one  friend,  I  believed  that 
I  stood  utterly  alone  in  the  world, — that  no  one 
cared  about  what  I  did  or  what  became  of  me.  I 
was  accustomed  to  isolation  and  thought  I  was 
content  with  it,  but  I  find  it  more  pleasant  than 
I  can  make  you  understand  to  know  there  is  one 
place  in  the  world  to  which  I  can  come,  not  as 
a  stranger  to  an  inn,  but  as  one  that   is   received 


42  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

for  other  than  business  considerations.  Since  you 
have  been  so  frank  with  me  I  will  be  equally  out- 
spoken ;"  and  he  told  her  just  how  he  was  situ- 
ated, and  what  were  his  plans  and  hopes,  **  Now 
that  I  know  there  is  no  necessity  of  earning  my 
livelihood,"  he  concluded,  "I  shall  yield  to  my 
impulse  to  rest  awhile,  and  then  quite  probably 
resume  my  studies  here  or  abroad  until  I  can  obtain 
a  position  suited  to  my  plans  and  taste.  I  thank 
you  for  your  note  of  alarm  in  regard  to  Miss  St. 
John,  although  I  must  say  that  to  my  mind  there 
is  more  of  incentive  than  of  warning  in  your  words. 
I  think  I  can  at  least  venture  on  a  few  reconnois- 
sances,  as  the  major  might  say,  before  I  beat  a 
retreat.      Is  it  too  early  to  make  one  now  ?" 

Mrs.  Mayburn  smiled.  "No,"  she  said,  laconi- 
cally. 

"  1  see  that  you  think  my  reconnoissance  will  lead 
to  a  siege,"  Graham  added.  "Well,  I  can  at  least 
promise  that  there  shall  be  no  rash  movements." 


CHAPTER   V. 

IMPRESSIONS. 

GRAHAM,  smiling  at  his  aunt  and  still  more 
amused  at  himself,  started  to  pay  his  morn- 
ing visit.  "  Yesterday  afternoon,"  he  thought,  "  I 
expected  to  make  but  a  brief  call  on  an  aunt  who 
was  almost  a  stranger  to  me,  and  now  I  am  domi- 
ciled under  her  roof  indefinitely.  She  has  intro- 
duced me  to  a  charming  girl,  and  in  an  ostensible 
warning  shrewdly  inserted  the  strongest  incentives 
to  venture  everything,  hinting  at  the  same  time  that 
if  I  succeeded  she  would  give  me  more  than  her 
blessing.  What  a  vista  of  possibilities  has  opened 
since  I  crossed  her  threshold  !  A  brief  time  since  I 
was  buried  in  German  libraries,  unaware  of  the 
existence  of  Miss  St.  John,  and  forgetting  that  of 
my  aunt.  Apparently  I  have  crossed  the  ocean  to 
meet  them  both,  for  had  I  remained  abroad  a  few 
days  longer,  letters  on  the  way  would  have  pre- 
vented my  returning.  Of  course  it  is  all  chance, 
but  a  curious  chance.  I  don't  wonder  that  people 
are  often  superstitious  ;  and  yet  a  moment's  reason- 
ing proves  the  absurdity  of  this  sort  of  thing. 
Nothing  truly  strange  often  happens,  and  only  our 


44  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

egotism  invests  events  of  personal  interest  with  a 
trace  of  the  marvellous.  My  business  man  neg- 
lected to  advise  me  of  my  improved  finances  as  soon 
as  he  might  have  done.  My  aunt  receives  me,  not 
as  I  expected,  but  as  one  would  naturally  hope  to 
be  met  by  a  relative.  She  has  a  fair  young  neighbor 
with  whom  she  is  intimate,  and  whom  I  meet  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  I  can 
continue  to  meet  her  as  long  as  I  choose  without 
becoming  'all  eye  and  all  memory.'  Surely  a 
man  can  enjoy  the  society  of  any  woman  with- 
out the  danger  my  aunt  suggests  and — as  I  half 
believe — would  like  to  bring  about.  What  signify 
my  fancies  of  last  evening?  We  often  enjoy  im- 
agining what  might  be  without  ever  intending  it 
shall  be.  At  any  rate  I  shall  not  sigh  for  Miss  St. 
John  or  any  other  woman  until  satisfied  that  I  should 
not  sigh  in  vain.  The  probabilities  are  therefore 
that  I  shall  never  sigh  at  all." 

As  he  approached  Major  St.  John's  dwelling  he 
saw  the  object  of  his  thoughts  standing  by  the 
window  and  reading  a  letter.  A  syringa  shrub 
partially  concealed  him  and  his  umbrella,  and  he 
could  not  forbear  pausing  a  moment  to  note  what 
a  pretty  picture  she  made.  A  sprig  of  white  flowers 
was  in  her  light  wavy  hair,  and  another  fastened  by 
her  breastpin  drooped  over  her  bosom.  Her  morn- 
ing wrapper  was  of  the  hue  of  the  sky  that  lay  back 
of  the  leaden  clouds.  A  heightened  color  mantled 
her  cheeks,  her  lips  v/ere  parted  with  a  smile,  and 
her  whole  face  was  full  of  delighted  interest. 

"By  Jove!"    muttered    Graham.     ''Aunt  May- 


IMPRESSIONS.  45 

burn  is  half  right,  I  believe.  A  man  must  have  the 
pulse  of  an  anchorite  to  look  often  at  such  a  vision 
as  that  and  remain  untouched.  One  might  easily 
create  a  divinity  out  of  such  a  creature,  and  then 
find  it  difficult  not  to  worship.  I  could  go  away 
now  and  make  her  my  ideal,  endowing  her  with  all 
impossible  attributes  of  perfection.  Very  probably 
fuller  acquaintance  will  prove  that  she  is  made  of 
clay  not  differing  materially  from  that  of  other 
womankind.  I  envy  her  correspondent,  however, 
and  would  be  glad  if  I  could  write  a  letter  that 
would  bring  such  an  expression  to  her  face.  Well, 
I  am  reconnoitering  true  enough,  and  had  better 
not  be  detected  in  the  act,"  and  he  stepped  rapidly 
forward. 

She  recognized  him  with  a  piquant  little  nod  and 
smile.  The  letter  was  folded  instantly,  and  a 
moment  later  she  opened  the  door  for  him  herself, 
saying,  "  Since  I  have  seen  you  and  you  have  come 
on  so  kind  an  errand  I  have  dispensed  with  the  for- 
mality of  sending  a  servant  to  admit  you." 

"Won't  you  shake  hands  as  a  further  reward?" 
he  asked.      *'  You  will  find  me  very  mercenary." 

**  Oh,  certainly.  Pardon  the  oversight.  I  should 
have  done  so  without  prompting  since  it  is  so  long 
since  we  have  met." 

**  And  having  known  each  other  so  long  also,"  he 
added  in  the  same  light  vein,  conscious  meantime 
that  he  held  a  hand  that  was  as  full  of  vitality  as  it 
was  shapely  and  white. 

*'  Indeed,"  she  replied  ;  **  did  last  evening  seem 
an  age  to  you  ?" 


46  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"■  I  tried  to  prolong  it,  for  you  must  remember 
that  my  aunt  said  that  she  could  not  get  me  away  ; 
and  this  morning  I  was  indiscreet  enough  to  wel- 
come the  rain,  at  which  she  reminded  me  of  her 
rheumatism  and  your  father's  wound." 

"  And  at  which  I  also  hope  you  had  a  twinge  or 
two  of  conscience.  Papa,"  she  added,  leading  the 
way  into  the  parlor,  "  here  is  Mr.  Graham.  It  was 
his  fascinating  talk  about  life  in  Germany  that  so 
delayed  me  last  evening." 

The  old  gentleman  started  out  of  a  doze,  and  his 
manner  proved  that  he  welcomed  any  break  in  the 
monotony  of  the  day.  "  You  will  pardon  my  not 
rising,"  he  said  ;  ''  this  confounded  weather  is  play- 
ing the  deuce  with  my  leg." 

Graham  was  observant  as  he  joined  in  a  general 
condemnation  of  the  weather  ;  and  the  manner  in 
which  Miss  St.  John  rearranged  the  cushion  on 
which  her  father's  foot  rested,  coaxed  the  fire  into 
a  more  cheerful  blaze,  and  bestowed  other  little 
attentions,  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  all  effort  in 
behalf  of  the  suffering  veteran  would  be  appre- 
ciated. Nor  was  he  so  devoid  of  a  kindly  good- 
nature himself  as  to  anticipate  an  irksome  task, 
and  he  did  his  utmost  to  discover  the  best  methods 
of  entertaining  his  host.  The  effort  soon  became 
remunerative,  for  the  major  had  seen  much  of  life, 
and  enjoyed  reference  to  his  experiences.  Graham 
found  that  he  could  be  induced  to  fight  his  battles 
over  again,  but  always  with  very  modest  allusion  to 
himself.  In  the  course  of  their  talk  it  also  became 
evident  that  he  was  a  man  of  somewhat  extensive 


IMPRESSIONS.  47 

reading,  and  the  daily  paper  must  have  been  almost 
Hterally  devoured  to  account  for  his  acquaintance 
with  contemporary  affairs.  The  daughter  was  often 
not  a  little  amused  at  Graham's  blank  looks  as  her 
father  broached  topics  of  American  interest  which 
to  the  student  from  abroad  were  as  little  known  or 
understood  as  the  questions  which  might  have  been 
agitating  the  inhabitants  of  Jupiter.  Most  ladies 
would  have  been  politely  oblivious  of  her  guest's 
blunders  and  infelicitous  remarks,  but  Miss  St.  John 
had  a  frank,  merry  way  of  recognizing  them,  and 
yet  malice  and  ridicule  were  so  entirely  absent  from 
her  words  and  ways  that  Graham  soon  positively 
enjoyed  being  laughed  at,  and  much  preferred  her 
delicate  open  raillery,  which  gave  him  a  chance  to 
defend  himself,  to  a  smiling  mask  that  would  leave 
him  in  uncertainty  as  to  the  fitness  of  his  replies. 
There  was  a  subtle  flattery  also  in  this  course,  for 
she  treated  him  as  one  capable  of  holding  his  own, 
and  not  in  need  of  social  charity  and'  protection. 
With  pleasure  he  recognized  that  she  was  adopting 
toward  him  something  of  the  same  sportive  manner 
which  characterized  her  relations  with  his  aunt, 
and  which  also  indicated  that  as  Mrs.  Mayburn's 
nephew  he  had  met  with  a  reception  which  would 
not  have  been  accorded  to  one  less  favorably  intro- 
duced. 

How  vividly  in  after  years  Graham  remembered 
that  rainy  May  morning  !  He  could  always  call  up  be- 
fore him,  like  a  vivid  picture,  the  old  major  with  his 
bushy  white  eyebrows  and  piercing  black  eyes,  the 
smoke  from  his  meerschaum  creating  a  sort  of  halo 


48  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

around  his  gray  head,  the  fine,  venerable  face  often 
drawn  by  pain  which  led  to  half-muttered  impreca- 
tions that  courtesy  to  his  guest  and  daughter  could 
not  wholly  suppress.  How  often  he  saw  again  the 
fire  curling  softly  from  the  hearth  with  a  contented 
crackle,  as  if  pleased  to  be  once  more  an  essential  to 
the  home  from  which  the  advancing  summer  would 
soon  banish  it  !  He  could  recall  every  article  of  the 
furniture  with  which  he  afterward  became  so  famil- 
iar. But  that  which  was  engraven  on  his  memory 
forever  was  a  fair  young  girl  sitting  by  the  window 
with  a  background  of  early  spring  greenery  swaying 
to  and  fro  in  the  storm.  Long  afterward,  when 
watching  on  the  perilous  picket  line  or  standing  in 
his  place  on  the  battle-field,  he  would  close  his  eyes 
that  he  might  recall  more  vividly  the  little  white 
hands  deftly  crocheting  on  some  feminine  mystery, 
and  the  mirthful  eyes  that  often  glanced  from  it  to 
him  as  the  quiet  flow  of  their  talk  rippled  on.  A 
rill,  had  it  conscious  life,  would  never  forget  the 
pebble  that  deflected  its  course  from  one  ocean  to 
another  ;  human  life  as  it  flows  onward  cannot  fail 
to  recognize  events,  trivial  in  themselves,  which 
nevertheless  gave  direction  to  all  the  future. 

Graham  admitted  to  himself  that  he  had  found  a 
charm  at  this  fireside  which  he  had  never  enjoyed 
elsewhere  in  society, — the  pleasure  of  being  perfectly 
at  ease.  There  was  a  genial  frankness  and  sim- 
plicity in  his  entertainers  which  banished  restraint, 
and  gave  him  a  sense  of  security.  He  felt  instinc- 
tively that  there  were  no  adverse  currents  of  mental 
criticism  and  detraction,  that  they  were  loyal  to  him 


IMPRESSIONS.  49 

as  their  invited  guest,  notwithstanding  jest,  banter, 
and  good-natured  satire. 

The  hours  had  vanished  so  swiftly  that  he  was  at 
a  loss  to  account  for  them.  Miss  St.  John  was  a 
natural  foe  to  dulness  of  all  kinds,  and  this  too 
without  any  apparent  effort.  Indeed,  we  are  rarely 
entertained  by  evident  and  deliberate  exertion. 
Pleasurable  exhilaration  in  society  is  obtained  from 
those  who  impart,  like  warmth,  their  own  spon- 
taneous vivacity.  Miss  St.  John's  smile  was  an 
antidote  for  a  rainy  day,  and  he  was  loath  to  pass 
from  its  genial  power  out  under  the  dripping  clouds. 
Following  an  impulse,  he  said  to  the  girl,  ''  You  are 
more  than  a  match  for  the  weather." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  the  hall  after  he  had 
bidden  adieu  to  the  major. 

"■  If  you  meant  a  compliment  it  is  a  very  doubtful 
one,"  she  repHed,  laughing.  "  Do  you  mean  that  I 
am  worse  than  the  weather  which  gives  papa  the 
horrors,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  the  rheumatism  ?" 

''  And  me  one  of  the  most  delightful  mornings  I 
ever  enjoyed,"  he  added,  interrupting  her.  "  You 
were  in  league  with  your  wood  fire.  The  garish  sun- 
shine of  a  warm  day  robs  a  house  of  all  cosiness  and 
snugness.  Instead  of  being  depressed  by  the  storm 
and  permitting  others  to  be  dull,  you  have  the  art  of 
making  the  clouds  your  foil." 

"Possibly    I    may    appear    to    some    advantage 
against  such  a  dismal  background,"  she  admitted. 
"  My  meaning  is  interpreted  by   my   unconscion- 
ably long  visit.     I  now  must  reluctantly  retreat  into 
the  dismal  background." 


5©  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"A  rather  well-covered  retreat,  as  papa  might 
say,  but  you  will  need  your  umbrella  all  the  same  ;" 
for  he,  in  looking  back  at  the  archly  smiling  girl,  had 
neglected  to  open  it. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  not  a  final  retreat,"  he  called 
back,  "  I  shall  return  this  evening  reinforced  by 
my  aunt." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  that  lady  when  he  appeared 
before  her,  "  lunch  has  been  waiting  ten  minutes  or 
more." 

"  I  feared  as  much,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head 
ruefully. 

"  What  kept  you  ?" 

"  Miss  St.  John." 

"  Not  the  major?  I  thought  you  went  to  enter- 
tain him." 

"  So  I  did,  but  man  proposes — " 

"  O,  not  yet,  I  hope,"  cried  the  old  lady  with 
assumed  dismay,  "  I  thought  you  promised  to  do 
nothing  rash." 

"You  are  more  precipitate  than  I  have  been. 
All  that  I  propose  is  to  enjoy  my  vacation  and  the 
society  of  yoiir  charming  friend." 

"  The  major?"  she  suggested. 

"  A  natural  error  on  your  part,  for  I  perceived  he 
was  very  gallant  to  you.  After  your  remarks,  how- 
ever, you  cannot  think  it  strange  that  I  found  the 
daughter  more  interesting, — so  interesting  indeed 
that  I  have  kept  you  waiting  for  lunch.  I'll  ngt 
repeat  the  offence  any  oftener  than  I  can  help.  At 
the  same  time  I  find  that  I  have  not  lost  my  ap- 
petite, or  anything  else  that  I  am  aware  of." 


IMPRESSIONS.  SI 

"How  did  Grace  appear?"  his  aunt  asked  as 
they  sat  down  to  lunch. 

"  Like  herself," 

"  Then  not  like  any  one  else,  you  know  ?" 

"  We  agree  here  perfectly." 

"  You  have  no  fear  ?" 

"  No,  nor  any  hopes  that  I  am  conscious  of. 
Can  I  not  admire  your  paragon  to  your  heart's 
content  without  insisting  that  she  bestows  upon 
me  the  treasures  of  her  life  ?  Miss  St.  John  has  a 
frank,  cordial  manner  all  her  own,  and  I  think  also 
that  for  your  sake  she  has  received  me  rather 
graciously,  but  I  should  be  blind  indeed  did  I  not 
recognize  that  it  would  require  a  siege  to  win  her  ; 
and  that  would  be  useless,  as  you  said,  unless  her 
own  heart  prompted  the  surrender.  I  have  heard 
and  read  that  many  women  are  capable  of  passing 
fancies  of  which  adroit  suitors  can  take  advantage, 
and  they  are  engaged  or  married  before  fully  com- 
prehending what  it  all  means.  Were  Miss  St.  John 
of  this  class  I  should  still  hesitate  to  venture,  for 
nothing  in  my  training  has  fitted  me  to  take  an 
advantage  of  a  lady's  mood.  I  don't  think  your 
favorite  is  given  to  fancies.  She  is  too  well  poised. 
Her  serene,  laughing  confidence,  her  more  than  con- 
tent, comes  either  from  a  heart  already  happily  given, 
or  else  from  a  nature  so  sound  and  healthful  that 
life  in  itself  is  an  unalloyed  joy.  She  impresses  me 
as  the  happiest  being  I  ever  met,  and  as  such  it  is  a 
delight  to  be  in  her  presence  ;  but  if  I  should  ap- 
proach her  as  a  lover,  something  tells  me  that  I 
should  find  her  like  a  snowy  peak,  warm  and  rose- 


52  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

tinted  in  the  sunlight,  as  seen  in  the  distance,  but 
growing  cold  as  you  draw  near.  There  may  be 
subterranean  fires,  but  they  would  manifest  them- 
selves from  some  inward  impulse.  At  least  I  do 
not  feel  conscious  of  any  power  to  awaken  them." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  shook  her  head  ominously. 

"You  are  growing  very  fanciful,"  she  said, 
"  which  is  a  sign,  if  not  a  bad  one.  Your  metaphors, 
too,  are  so  far-fetched  and  extravagant  as  to  indicate 
the  earliest  stages  of  the  divine  madness.  Do  you 
mean  to  suggest  that  Grace  will  break  forth  like  a 
volcano  on  some  fortuitous  man  ?  If  that  be  your 
theory  you  would  stand  as  good  a  chance  as  any 
one.     She  might  break  forth  on  you." 

"  I  have  indeed  been  unfortunate  in  my  illustra- 
tion, since  you  can  so  twist  my  words  even  in  jest. 
Here's  plain  enough  prose  for  you.  No  amount  of 
wooing  would  make  the  slightest  difference  unless 
by  some  law  or  impulse  of  her  own  nature  Miss  St. 
John  was  compelled  to  respond." 

"  Is  n't  that  true  of  every  woman  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  is." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  so  versed  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  feminine  soul  ?" 

"  I  have  not  lived  altogether  the  life  of  a  monk, 
and  the  history  of  the  world  is  the  history  of  women 
as  well  as  of  men.  I  am  merely  giving  the  impres- 
sion that  has  been  made  upon  me." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

PHILOSOPHY    AT    FAULT. 

IF  Mrs.  Mayburn  had  fears  that  her  nephew's 
peace  would  be  affected  by  his  exposure  to 
the  fascinations  of  Miss  St.  John,  they  were  quite 
allayed  by  his  course  for  the  next  two  or  three 
weeks.  If  she  had  indulged  the  hope  that  he  would 
speedily  be  carried  away  by  the  charms  which 
seemed  to  her  irresistible,  and  so  give  the  chance  of 
a  closer  relationship  with  her  favorite,  she  saw  lit- 
tle to  encourage  such  a  hope  beyond  Graham's 
evident  enjoyment  in  the  young  girl's  society,  and 
his  readiness  to  seek  it  on  all  fitting  occasions.  He 
played  whist  assiduously,  and  appeared  to  enjoy  the 
game.  He  often  spent  two  or  three  hours  with  the 
major  during  the  day,  and  occasionally  beguiled  the 
time  by  reading  aloud  to  him.,  but  the  element  of 
gallantry  toward  the  daughter  seemed  wanting,  and 
the  aunt  concluded,  "  No  woman  can  rival  a  book 
in  Alford's  heart, — that  is,  if  he  has  one, — and  he  is 
simply  studying  Grace  as  if  she  were  a  book.  There 
is  one  symptom,  however,  that  needs  explanation, — 
he  is  not  so  ready  to  talk  about  her  as  at  first,  and 
I  don't  believe  that  indifference  is  the  cause." 


54  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

She  was  right :  indifference  was  not  the  cause. 
Graham's  interest  in  Miss  St.  John  was  growing 
deeper  every  day,  but  the  stronger  the  hold  she 
gained  upon  his  thoughts,  the  less  inclined  was  he 
to  speak  of  her.  He  was  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  be  carried  away  by  a  Romeo-like  gust  of  passion, 
and  no  amount  of  beauty  could  hold  his  attention 
an  hour,  did  not  the  mind  ray  through  it  with  a 
sparkle  and  power  essentially  its  own. 

Miss  St.  John  had  soon  convinced  him  that  she 
could  do  more  than  look  sweetly  and  chatter.  She 
could  not  only  talk  to  a  university-bred  man,  but 
also  tell  him  much  that  was  new.  He  found  his 
peer,  not  in  his  lines  of  thought,  but  in  her  own, 
and  he  was  so  little  of  an  egotist  that  he  admired 
her  all  the  more  because  she  knew  what  he  did  not, 
and  could  never  become  an  echo  of  himself.  In  her 
world  she  had  been  an  intelligent  observer  and 
thinker,  and  she  interpreted  that  world  to  him  as 
naturally  and  unassumingly  as  a  flower  blooms  and 
exhales  its  fragrance.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  charm  of  a  cultivated 
woman's  society,  and  to  do  this  in  his  present  lei- 
sure seemed  the  most  sensible  thing  possible. 

"One  can  see  a  rare  flower,"  he  had  reasoned, 
"without  wishing  to  pluck  it,  or  hear  a  wood-thrush 
sing  without  straightway  thinking  of  a  cage.  Miss 
St.  John's  affections  may  be  already  engaged,  or  I 
may  be  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  secure  them. 
Idle  fancies  of  what  she  might  become  to  me  are 
harmless  enough.  Any  man  is  prone  to  indulge  in 
these  when  seeing  a  woman  who  pleases  his  taste 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT.  55 

and  kindles  his  imagination.  When  it  comes  to 
practical  action  one  may  expect  and  desire  nothing 
more  than  the  brightening  of  one's  wits  and  the 
securing  of  agreeable  pastime.  I  do  not  see  why  I 
should  not  be  entirely  content  with  these  motives, 
until  my  brief  visit  is  over,  notwithstanding  my 
aunt's  ominous  warnings;"  and  so  without  any 
misgivings  he  had  at  first  yielded  himself  to  all  the 
spells  that  Miss  St.  John  might  unconsciously 
weave. 

As  time  passed,  however,  he  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  could  maintain  his  cool,  philosophic 
attitude  of  enjoyment.  He  found  himself  growing 
more  and  more  eager  for  the  hours  to  return  when 
he  could  seek  her  society,  and  the  intervening  time 
was  becoming  dull  and  heavy-paced.  The  im- 
pulse to  go  back  to  Germany  and  to  resume  his 
studies  was  slow  in  coming.  Indeed,  he  was  at  last 
obliged  to  admit  to  himself  that  a  game  of  whist 
with  the  old  major  had  more  attractions  than  the 
latest  scientific  treatise.  Not  that  he  doted  on  the 
irascible  veteran,  but  because  he  thus  secured  a  fair 
partner  whose  dark  eyes  were  beaming  with  mirth 
and  intelligence,  whose  ever-springing  fountain  of 
happiness  was  so  full  that  even  in  the  solemnity  of 
the  game  it  found  expression  in  little  piquant  ges- 
tures, brief  words,  and  smiles  that  were  like  glints 
of  sunshine.  Her  very  presence  lifted  him  to  a 
higher  plane,  and  gave  a  greater  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ment, and  sometimes  simply  an  arch  smile  or  an 
unexpected  tone  set  his  nerves  vibrating  in  a  man- 
ner as  delightful  as  it  was  unexplainable  by  any 


56  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

past  experience  that  he  could  recall.  She  was  a 
good  walker  and  horsewoman,  and  as  their  acquaint- 
ance ripened  he  began  to  ask  permission  to  join  her 
in  her  rides  and  rambles.  She  assented  without  the 
slightest  hesitancy,  but  he  soon  found  that  she  gave 
him  no  exclusive  monopoly  of  these  excursions,  and 
that  he  must  share  them  with  other  young  men. 
Her  absences  from  home  were  always  comparatively 
brief,  however,  and  that  which  charmed  him  most 
was  her  sunny  devotion  to  her  invalid  and  often  very 
irritable  father.  She  was  the  antidote  to  his  age 
and  to  his  infirmities  of  body  and  temper.  While 
she  was  away  the  world  in  general,  and  his  own  little 
sphere  in  particular,  tended  toward  a  hopeless  snarl. 
Jinny,  the  colored  servant,  was  subserviency  itself, 
but  her  very  obsequiousness  irritated  him,  although 
her  drollery  was  at  times  diverting.  It  was  usually 
true,  however,  that  but  one  touch  and  one  voice 
could  soothe  the  jangling  nerves.  As  Graham  saw 
this  womanly  magic,  which  apparently  cost  no  more 
effort  than  the  wood  fire  put  forth  in  banishing 
chilliness  and  discomfort,  the  thought  would  come, 
"  Blessed  will  be  the  man  who  can  win  her  as  the 
light  and  life  of  his  home  !" 

When  days  passed,  and  no  one  seemed  to  have 
a  greater  place  in  her  thoughts  and  interest  than 
himself,  was  it  unnatural  that  the  hope  should 
dawn  that  she  might  create  a  home  for  him  ?  If 
she  had  a  favored  suitor  his  aunt  would  be  apt 
to  know  of  it.  She  did  not  seem  ambitious,  or 
disposed  to  invest  her  heart  so  that  it  might  bring 
fortune   and    social  eminence.     Never  by  word  or 


PIIILOSOPH Y  AT  FAULT.  57 

sign  had  she  appeared  to  chafe  at  her  father's 
modest  competency,  but  with  tact  and  skill,  taught 
undoubtedly  by  army  experience,  she  made  their 
slender  income  yield  the  essentials  of  comfort  and 
refinement,  and  seemed  quite  indifferent  to  non- 
essentials. Graham  could  never  hope  to  possess 
wealth,  but  he  found  in  Miss  St.  John  a  woman 
who  could  impart  to  his  home  the  crowning  grace  of 
wealth, — simple,  unostentatious  elegance.  His  aunt 
had  said  that  the  young  girl  had  already  refused 
more  than  one  fortune,  and  the  accompanying 
assurance  that  she  would  marry  the  man  she  loved, 
whatever  might  be  his  circumstances,  seemed  verified 
by  his  own  observation.  Therefore  why  might  he 
not  hope  ?  Few  men  are  so  modest  as  not  to  indulge 
the  hope  to  which  their  heart  prompts  them. 
Graham  was  slow  to  recognize  the  existence  of  this 
hope,  and  then  he  watched  its  growth  warily.  Not 
for  the  world  would  he  lose  control  of  himself,  not 
for  the  world  would  he  reveal  it  to  any  one,  least  of 
all  to  his  aunt  or  to  her  who  had  inspired  it,  unless 
he  had  some  reason  to  believe  she  would  not  dis- 
appoint it.  He  was  prompted  to  concealment,  not 
only  by  his  pride,  which  was  great,  but  more  by  a 
characteristic  trait,  an  instinctive  desire  to  hide  his 
deeper  feelings,  his  inner  personality  from  all  others. 
He  would  not  admit  that  he  had  fallen  in  love. 
The  very  phrase  was  excessively  distasteful.  To 
his  friend  Hilland  he  might  have  given  his  con- 
fidence, and  he  would  have  accounted  for  himself 
in  some  such  way  as  this  : — 

"  I  have    found  a  child    and    a  woman  ;    a  child 


58  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

in  frankness  and  joyousness,  a  woman  in  beauty, 
strength,  mental  maturity,  and  unselfishness.  She 
interested  me  from  the  first,  and  every  day  I  know 
better  the  reason  why, — because  she  is  interest- 
ing. My  reason  has  kept  pace  with  my  fancy 
and  my  deeper  feeling,  and  impels  me  to  seek 
this  girl  quite  as  much  as  does  my  heart.  I  do 
not  think  a  man  meets  such  a  woman  or  such  a 
chance  for  happiness  twice  in  a  lifetime.  I  did  not 
believe  there  was  such  a  woman  in  the  world.  You 
may  laugh  and  say  that  is  the  way  all  lovers  talk. 
I  answer  emphatically,  No.  I  have  not  yet  lost 
my  poise,  and  I  never  was  a  predestined  lover.  I 
might  easily  have  gone  through  life  and  never  given 
tc  these  subjects  an  hour's  thought.  Even  now  I 
could  quietly  decide  to  go  away  and  take  up  my  old 
life  as  I  left  it.  But  why  should  I  ?  Here  is  an 
opportunity  to  enrich  existence  immeasurably,  and 
to  add  to  all  my  chances  of  success  and  power.  So 
far  from  being  a  drag  upon  one,  a  woman  like  Miss 
St.  John  would  incite  and  inspire  a  man  to  his  best 
efforts.  She  would  sympathize  with  him  because 
she  could  understand  his  aims  and  keep  pace  with 
his  mental  advance.  Granted  that  my  prospects  of 
winning  her  are  doubtful  indeed,  still  as  far  as  I  can 
see  there  is  a  chance.  I  would  not  care  a  straw  for 
a  woman  that  I  could  have  for  the  asking, — who 
would  take  me  as  a  dernier  ressort.  Any  woman 
that  I  would  marry,  many  others  would  gladly 
marry  also,  and  I  must  take  my  chance  of  winning 
her  from  them.  Such  would  be  my  lot  under  any 
circumstances,  and   if  I  give  way   to  a  faint  heart 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT.  59 

now  I  may  as  well  give  up  altogether  and  content 
myself  with  a  library  as  a  bride." 

Since  he  felt  that  he  might  have  taken  Hilland 
into  his  confidence,  he  had  in  terms  substantially 
the  same  as  those  given,  imagined  his  explana- 
tion, and  he  smiled  as  he  portrayed  to  himself 
his  friend's  jocular  response,  which  would  have 
nevertheless  its  substratum  of  true  sympathy. 
"  Hilland  would  say,"  he  thought,  "  'That  is  just 
like  you,  Graham.  You  can't  smoke  a  cigar  or 
make  love  to  a  girl  without  analyzing  and  phil- 
osophizing and  arranging  all  the  wisdom  of  Solomon 
in  favor  of  your  course.  Nov/  I  would  make  love 
to  a  girl  because  I  loved  her,  and  that  would  be 
the  end  on't. '  " 

Graham  was  mistaken  in  this  case.  Not  in 
laughing  sympathy,  but  in  pale  dismay,  would 
Hilland  have  received  this  revelation,  for  he  was 
making  love  to  Grace  St.  John  because  he  loved  her 
with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  There  had  been  a  time 
when  Graham  might  have  obtained  a  hint  of  this 
had  circumstances  been  different,  and  it  had  oc- 
curred quite  early  in  his  acquaintance  with  Miss 
St.  John.  After  a  day  that  had  been  unusually 
delightful  and  satisfactory  he  was  accompanying  the 
young  girl  home  from  his  aunt's  cottage  in  the 
twilight.  Out  of  the  complacency  of  his  heart  he 
remarked,  half  to  himself,  "  If  Hilland  were  only 
here,  my  vacation  would  be  complete." 

In  the  obscurity  he  could  not  see  her  sudden 
burning  flush,  and  since  her  hand  was  not  on  his 
arm  he  had  no  knowledge  of  her  startled  tremor. 


Co  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

All  that  he  knew  was  that  she  was  silent  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  she  asked  quietly,  "Is 
Mr.  Warren  Hilland  an  acquaintance  of  yours?" 

"  Indeed  he  is  not,"  was  the  emphatic  and  hearty 
response.  "He  is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the 
world,  and  the  best  fellow  in  the  world," 

O  fatal  obscurity  of  the  deepening  twilight  !  Miss 
St.  John's  face  was  crimson  and  radiant  with 
pleasure,  and  could  Graham  have  seen  her  at  that 
moment  he  could  not  have  failed  to  surmise  the 
truth. 

The  young  girl  was  as  jealous  of  her  secret  as 
Graham  soon  became  of  his,  and  she  only  remarked 
demurely,  "  I  have  met  Mr.  Hilland  in  society," 
and  then  she  changed  the  subject,  for  they  were 
approaching  the  piazza  steps,  and  she  felt  that  if 
Hilland  should  continue  the  theme  of  conversation 
under  the  light  of  the  chandelier,  a  telltale  face  and 
manner  would  betray  her,  in  spite  of  all  effort  at 
control.  A  fragrant  blossom  from  the  shrubbery 
bordering  the  walk  brushed  against  Graham's  face, 
and  he  plucked  it,  saying,  "  Beyond  that  it  is  fra- 
grant I  don't  know  what  this  flower  is.  Will  you 
take  it  from  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  for  at  that  moment 
her  absent  lover  had  been  brought  so  vividly  to  her 
consciousness  that  her  heart  recoiled  from  even  the 
slightest  hint  of  gallantry  from  another.  A  moment 
later  the  thought  occurred,  "  Mr.  Graham  is  his 
dearest  friend  ;  therefore  he  is  my  friend,  although 
I  cannot  yet  be  as  frank  with  him  as  I  would  like 
to  be." 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  FAULT.  6i 

She  paused  a  few  moments  on  the  piazza,  to  cool 
her  hot  face  and  quiet  her  fluttering  nerves,  and 
Graham  saw  with  much  pleasure  that  she  fastened 
the  flower  to  her  breastpin.  When  at  last  she 
entered  she  puzzled  him  a  little  by  leaving  him 
rather  abruptly  at  the  parlor  door  and  hastening 
up  the  stairs. 

She  found  that  his  words  had  stirred  such  deep, 
full  fountains  that  she  could  not  yet  trust  herself 
under  his  observant  eyes.  It  is  a  woman's  delight 
to  hear  her  lover  praised  by  other  men,  and 
Graham's  words  had  been  so  hearty  that  they  had 
set  her  pulses  bounding,  for  they  assured  her  that 
she  had  not  been  deceived  by  love's  partial  eyes. 

"  It's  true,  it's  true,"  she  murmured  softly,  stand- 
ing with  dewy  eyes  before  her  mirror.  "  He  is  the 
best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  I  was  blind  that  I  did 
not  see  it  from  the  first.  But  all  will  yet  be  well ;" 
and  she  drew  a  letter  from  her  bosom  and  kissed  it. 

Happy  would  Hilland  have  been  had  he  seen  the 
vision  reflected  by  that  mirror, — beauty,  rich  and 
rare  in  itself,  but  enhanced,  illumined,  and  made 
divine  by  the  deepest,  strongest,  purest  emotions  of 
the  soul. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WARREN     HILLAND. 

THE  closing  scenes  of  the  precedfng  chapter 
demand  some  explanation.  Major  St.  John 
had  spent  part  of  the  preceding  summer  at  a  seaside 
resort,  and  his  daughter  had  inevitably  attracted 
not  a 'little  attention.  Among  those  that  sought 
her  favor  was  Warren  Hilland,  and  in  accordance 
with  his  nature  he  had  been  rather  precipitate.  He 
was  ardent,  impulsive,  and,  indulged  from  earliest 
childhood,  he  had  been  spoiled  in  only  one  respect, — 
when  he  wanted  anything  he  wanted  it  with  all  his 
heart  and  immediately.  Miss  St.  John  had  seemed 
to  him  from  the  first  a  pearl  among  women.  As 
with  Graham,  circumstances  gave  him  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  her  daily,  and  he  speedily  suc- 
cumbed to  the  "  visitation  of  that  power"  to  which 
the  strongest  must  yield.  Almost  before  the  young 
girl  suspected  the  existence  of  his  passion,  he 
declared  it.  She  refused  him,  but  he  would  take 
no  refusal.  Having  won  from  her  the  admission 
that  he  had  no  favored  rival,  he  lifted  his  handsome 
head  with  a  resolution  which  she  secretly  admired, 
and  declared  that  only  when  convinced  that  he  had 
become  hateful  to  her  would  he  give  up  his  suit. 


WARREN  HILLAND-.  63 

He  was  not  a  man  to  become  hateful  to  any 
woman.  His  frank  nature  was  so  in  accord  with 
hers  that  she  responded  in  somewhat  the  same 
spirit,  and  said,  half  laughingly  and  half  tearfully, 
*'  Well,  if  you  will,  you  will,  but  I  can  offer  no 
encouragement." 

And  yet  his  downright  earnestness  had  agitated 
her  deeply,  disturbing  her  maiden  serenity,  and 
awaking  for  the  first  time  the  woman  within  her 
heart.  Hitherto  her  girlhood's  fancies  had  been 
like  summer  zephyrs,  disturbing  but  briefly  the  still, 
clear  waters  of  her  soul  ;  but  now  she  became  an 
enigma  to  herself  as  she  slowly  grew  conscious  of 
her  own  heart  and  the  law  of  her  woman's  nature 
to  love  and  give  herself  to  another.  But  she  had 
too  much  of  the  doughty  old  major's  fire  and  spirit, 
and  was  too  fond  of  her  freedom  to  surrender  easily. 
Both  Graham  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  were  right  in  their 
estimate, — she  would  never  yield  her  heart  unless 
compelled  to  by  influences  unexpected,  at  first  un- 
welcomed,  but  in  the  end  overmastering. 

The  first  and  chief  effect  of  Hilland's  impetuous 
wooing  was,  as  we  have  seen,  to  destroy  her  sense 
of  maidenly  security,  and  to  bring  her  face  to  face 
with  her  destiny.  Then  his  openly  avowed  siege 
speedily  compelled  her  to  withdraw  her  thoughts 
from  man  in  the  abstract  to  himself.  She  could  not 
brush  him  aside  by  a  quiet  negative,  as  she  had  al- 
ready done  in  the  case  of  several  others.  Clinging  to 
her  old  life,  however,  and  fearing  to  embark  on  this 
unknown  sea  of  new  experiences,  she  hesitated,  and 
would  not  commit  herself  until  the  force  that  im- 


64  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

celled  was  greater  than  that  which  restrained.  He  at 
last  had  the  tact  to  understand  her  and  to  recognize 
that  he  had  spoken  to  a  girl,  indeed  almost  a  child, 
and  that  he  must  wait  for  the  woman  to  develop. 
Hopeful,  almost  confident,  for  success  and  pros- 
perity had  seemingly  made  a  league  with  him  in  all 
things,  he  was  content  to  wait.  The  major  had 
sanctioned  his  addresses  from  the  first,  and  he 
sought  to  attain  his  object  by  careful  and  skilful 
approaches.  He  had  shown  himself  such  an  im- 
petuous wooer  that  she  might  well  doubt  his  per- 
sistence ;  now  he  would  prove  himself  so  patient 
and  considerate  that  she  could  not  doubt  him. 

When  they  parted  at  the  seaside  Hilland  was 
called  to  the  far  West  by  important  business  in- 
terests. In  response  to  his  earnest  pleas,  in  which 
he  movingly  portrayed  his  loneliness  in  a  rude 
mining  village,  she  said  he  might  write  to  her  occa- 
sionally, and  he  had  written  so  quietly  and  sensibly, 
so  nearly  as  a  friend  might  address  a  friend,  that 
she  felt  there  could  be  no  harm  in  a  correspondence 
of  this  character.  During  the  winter  season  their 
letters  had  grown  more  frequent,  and  he  with  con- 
summate skill  had  gradually  tinged  his  words  with 
a  warmer  hue.  She  smiled  at  his  artifice.  There  was 
no  longer  any  need  of  it,  for  by  the  wood  fire,  when 
all  the  house  was  still  and  wrapped  in  sleep,  she  had 
become  fully  revealed  unto  herself.  She  found  that 
she  had  a  woman's  heart,  and  that  she  had  given  it 
irrevocably  to  Warren  Hilland. 

She  did  not  tell  him  so, — far  from  it.  The  secret 
seemed  so  strange,  so  wonderful,  so  exquisite  in  its 


WARREN  IIILLAND.  65 

blending  of  pain  and  pleasure,  that  she  did  not  tell 
any  one.  Hers  was  not  the  nature  that  could  babble 
of  the  heart's  deepest  mysteries  to  half  a  score  of 
confidants.  To  him  first  she  would  make  the  su- 
preme avowal  that  she  had  become  his  by  a  sweet 
compulsion  that  had  at  last  proved  irresistible,  and 
even  he  must  again  seek  that  acknowledgment 
directly,  earnestly.  He  was  left  to  gather  what 
hope  he  could  from  the  fact  that  she  did  not  resent 
his  warmer  expressions,  and  this  leniency  from  a  girl 
like  Grace  St.  John  meant  so  much  to  him  that  he 
did  gather  hope  daily.  Her  letters  were  not  near- 
ly so  frequent  as  his,  but  when  they  did  come  he 
fairly  gloated  over  them.  They  were  so  fresh, 
crisp,  and  inspiring  that  they  reminded  him  of  the 
seaside  breezes  that  had  quickened  his  pulses  with 
health  and  pleasure  during  the  past  summer.  She 
wrote  in  an  easy,  gossiping  style  of  the  books  she 
was  reading,  of  the  good  things  in  the  art  and 
literary  journals,  and  of  such  questions  of  the  day 
as  would  naturally  interest  her,  and  he  so  gratefully 
assured  her  that  by  this  course  she  kept  him  within 
the  pale  of  civilization,  that  she  was  induced  to 
write  oftener.  In  her  effort  to  gather  material 
that  would  interest  him,  life  gained  a  new  and 
richer  zest,  and  she  learned  how  the  kindling  flame 
within  her  heart  could  illumine  even  common 
things.  Each  day  brought  such  a  wealth  of  joy 
that  it  was  like  a  new  and  glad  surprise.  The 
page  she  read  had  not  only  the  interest  imparted 
to  it  by  the  author,  but  also  the  far  greater  charm 
of  suggesting  thoughts  of  him  or  for  him  ;  and  so 


66  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

began  an  interchange  of  books  and  periodicals, 
with  penciUings,  queries,  marks  of  approval  and 
disapproval.  "  I  will  show  him,"  she  had  resolved, 
"  that  I  am  not  a  doll  to  be  petted,  but  a  woman 
who  can  be  his  friend  and  companion." 

And  she  proved  this  quite  as  truly  by  her  ques- 
tions, her  intelligent  interest  in  his  mining  pursuits, 
and  the  wild  region  of  his  sojourn,  as  by  her  words 
concerning  that  with  which  she  was  familiar. 

It  was  hard  for  Hilland  to  maintain  his  reti- 
cence or  submit  to  the  necessity  of  his  long  ab- 
sence. She  had  revealed  the  rich  jewel  of  her  mind 
so  fully  that  his  love  had  increased  with  time  and 
separation,  and  he  longed  to  obtain  the  complete 
assurance  of  his  happiness.  And  yet  not  for  the 
world  would  he  again  endanger  his  hopes  by  rash- 
ness. He  ventured,  however,  to  send  the  copy  of 
Emerson  with  the  quotation  already  given  strongly 
underscored.  Since  she  made  no  allusion  to  this  in 
her  subsequent  letter,  he  again  grew  more  wary,  but 
as  spring  advanced  the  tide  of  feeling  became  too 
strong  to  be  wholly  repressed,  and  words  indicating 
his  passion  would  slip  into  his  letters  in  spite  of 
himself.  She  saw  what  was  coming  as  truly  as  she 
saw  all  around  her  the  increasing  evidences  of  the 
approach  of  summer,  and  no  bird  sang  with  a  fuller 
or  more  joyous  note  than  did  her  heart  at  the 
prospect. 

Graham  witnessed  this  culminating  happiness, 
and  it  would  have  been  well  for  him  had  he  known 
its  source.  Her  joyousness  had  seemed  to  him  a 
characteristic  trait,  and  so  it  was,  but  he  could  not 


WARREN  HILLAND.  67 

know  how  greatly  it  was  enhanced  by  a  cause  that 
would  have  led  to  very  different  action  on  his  part. 

Hilland  had  decided  that  he  would  not  write  to 
his  friend  concerning  his  suit  until  his  fate  was 
decided  in  one  way  or  the  other.  In  fact,  his 
letters  had  grown  rather  infrequent,  not  from  wan- 
ing friendship,  but  rather  because  their  mutual 
interests  had  drifted  apart.  Their  relations  were 
too  firmly  established  to  need  the  aid  of  correspond- 
ence, and  each  knew  that  when  they  met  again 
they  would  resume  their  old  ways.  In  the  sympa- 
thetic magnetism  of  personal  presence  confidences 
would  be  given  that  they  would  naturally  hesitate 
to  write  out  in  cool  blood. 

Thus  Graham  was  left  to  drift  and  philosophize  at 
first.  But  his  aunt  was  right  :  he  could  not  daily  see 
one  who  so  fully  satisfied  the  cravings  of  his  nature 
and  coolly  consider  the  pros  and  cons.  He  was  one 
who  would  kindle  slowly,  but  it  would  be  an  an- 
thracite flame  that  would  burn  on  while  life  lasted. 

He  felt  that  he  had  no  reason  for  discouragement, 
for  she  seemed  to  grow  more  kind  and  friendly  every 
day.  This  was  true  of  her  manner,  for,  looking 
upon  him  as  Hilland's  best  friend,  she  gave  him  a 
genuine  regard,  but  it  was  an  esteem  which,  like 
reflected  light,  was  devoid  of  the  warmth  of  affec- 
tion that  comes  direct  from  the  heart. 

She  did  not  suspect  the  feeling  that  at  last  began 
to  deepen  rapidly,  nor  had  he  any  adequate  idea  of 
its  strength.  When  a  grain  of  corn  is  planted  it  is. 
the  hidden  root  that  first  develops,  and  the  con- 
trolling influence  of    his   life    was    taking    root    in 


68  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Graham's  heart.  If  he  did  not  fully  comprehend 
this  at  an  early  day  it  is  not  strange  that  she  did 
not.  She  had  no  disposition  to  fall  in  love  with 
every  interesting  man  she  met,  and  it  seemed 
equally  absurd  to  credit  the  gentlemen  of  her  ac- 
quaintance with  any  such  tendency.  Her  manner, 
therefore,  toward  the  other  sex  was  characterized 
by  a  frank,  pleasant  friendliness  which  could  be  mis- 
taken for  coquetry  by  only  the  most  obtuse  or  the 
most  conceited  of  men.  With  all  his  faults  Graham 
was  neither  stupid  nor  vain.  He  understood  her  re- 
gard, and  doubted  whether  he  could  ever  change  its 
character.  He  only  hoped  that  he  might,  and  until 
he  saw  a  better  chance  for  this  he  determined  not 
to  reveal  himself,  fearing  that  if  he  did  so  it  might 
terminate  their  acquaintance. 

"  My  best  course,"  he  reasoned,  *'  is  to  see  her  as 
often  as  possible,  and  thus  give  her  the  opportunity 
to  know  me  well.  If  I  shall  ever  have  any  power 
to  win  her  love,  she,  by  something  in  her  manner  or 
tone,  will  unconsciously  reveal  the  truth  to  me. 
Then  I  will  not  be  slow  to  act.  Why  should  I  lose 
the  pleasure  of  these  golden  hours  by  seeking  open- 
ly that  which  as  yet  she  has  not  the  slightest  dis- 
position to  give  ?" 

This  appeared  to  him  a  safe  and  judicious  pol- 
icy, and  yet  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  it 
would  ever  have  been  successful  with  Grace  St. 
John,  even  had  she  been  as  fancy  free  as  when 
Hilland  first  met  her.  She  was  a  soldier's  daughter, 
and  could  best  be  won  by  Hilland's  soldier-like 
wooing.     Not  that  she  could  have  been  won   any 


WARREN  HILLAND.  69 

more  readily  by  direct  and  impetuous  advances 
had  not  her  heart  been  touched,  but  the  probabili- 
ties are  that  her  heart  never  would  have  been 
touched  by  Graham's  army-of-observation  tactics.  It 
v/ould  scarcely  have  occurred  to  her  to  think  seri- 
ously of  a  man  who  did  not  follow  her  with  an  eager 
quest. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  his  aunt  had  suggested  from 
the  first,  poor  Graham  was  greatly  endangering  his 
peace  by  this  close  study  of  a  woman  lovely  in 
herself,  and,  as  he  fully  believed,  peculiarly  adapted 
to  satisfy  every  requirement  of  his  nature.  A  man 
who  knows  nothing  of  a  hidden  treasure  goes  un- 
concernedly on  his  way  ;  if  he  discovers  it  and  then 
loses  it  he  feels  impoverished. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SUPREME     MOMENTS. 

GRAHAM'S  visit  was  at  last  lengthened  to  a 
month,  and  yet  the  impulse  of  work  or  of  de- 
parture had  not  seized  him.  Indeed,  there  seemed 
less  prospect  of  anything  of  the  kind  than  ever.  A 
strong  mutual  attachment  was  growing  between 
himself  and  his  aunt.  The  brusque,  quick-witted 
old  lady  interested  him,  while  her  genuine  kindness 
and  hearty  welcome  gave  to  him,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  the  sense  of  being  at  home.  She  was  a 
woman  of  strong  likes  and  dislikes.  She  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  Graham  from  the  first,  and  this  interest 
fast  deepened  into  affection.  She  did  not  know  how 
lonely  she  was  in  her  isolated  life,  and  she  found  it 
so  pleasant  to  have  some  one  to  look  after  and 
think  about  that  she  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
kept  him  with  her  always. 

Moreover,  she  had  a  lurking  hope,  daily  gaining 
confirmation,  that  her  nephew  was  not  so  indifferent 
to  her  favorite  as  he  seemed.  In  her  old  age  she 
was  beginning  to  long  for  kindred  and  closer  ties, 
and  she  felt  that  she  could  in  effect  adopt  Grace, 
and  could  even  endure  the    invalid    major  for  the 


SUPREME   MOMENTS.  7 1 

sake  of  one  who  was  so  congenial.  She  thought  it 
politic,  however,  to  let  matters  take  their  own 
course,  for  her  strong  good  sense  led  her  to  believe 
that  meddling  rarely  accomplishes  anything  except 
mischief.  She  was  not  averse  to  a  little  indirect 
diplomacy,  however,  and  did  all  in  her  power  to 
make  it  easy  and  natural  for  Graham  to  see  the 
young  girl  as  often  as  possible,  and  one  lovely  day, 
early  in  June,  she  planned  a  little  excursion,  which, 
according  to  the  experience  of  her  early  days, 
promised  well  for  her  aims. 

One  breathless  June  morning  that  was  warm,  but 
not  sultry,  she  went  over  to  the  St.  Johns',  and 
suggested  a  drive  to  the  brow  of  a  hill  from 
which  there  was  a  superb  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  The  plan  struck  the  major  pleasantly, 
and  Grace  was  delighted.  She  had  the  craving 
for  out-of-door  life  common  to  all  healthful  natures, 
but  there  was  another  reason  why  she  longed  for 
a  day  under  the  open  sky  with  her  thoughts  par- 
tially and  pleasantly  distracted  from  one  great  truth 
to  which  she  felt  she  must  grow  accustomed  by 
degrees.  It  was  arranged  that  they  should  take 
their  lunch  and  spend  the  larger  part  of  the  after- 
noon, thus  giving  the  affair  something  of  the  aspect 
of  a  quiet  little  picnic. 

Although  Graham  tried  to  take  the  proposition 
quietly,  he  could  not  repress  a  flush  of  pleasure 
and  a  certain  alacrity  of  movement  eminently  sat- 
isfactory to  his  aunt.  Indeed,  his  spirits  rose  to  a 
degree  that  made  him  a  marvel  to  himself,  and  he 
wonderingly  queried,  ''  Can  I  be  the  same  man  who 


72  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

but  a  few  weeks  since  watched  the  dark  h'ne  of  my 
native  country  loom  up  in  the  night,  and  with  pros- 
pects as  vague  and  dark  as  that  outline  ?" 

Miss  St.  John  seemed  perfectly  radiant  that  morn- 
ing, her  eyes  vying  with  the  June  sunlight,  and  her 
cheeks  emulating  the  roses  everywhere  in  bloom. 
What  was  the  cause  of  her  unaffected  delight  ? 
Was  it  merely  the  prospect  of  a  day  of  pleasure  in 
the  woods  ?  Could  he  hope  that  his  presence 
added  to  her  zest  for  the  occasion  ?  Such  were 
the  questions  with  which  Graham's  mind  was  busy 
as  he  aided  the  ladies  in  their  preparations.  She 
certainly  was  more  kind  and  friendly  than  usual, — ^ 
yes,  more  familiar.  He  was  compelled  to  admit,  how- 
ever, that  her  manner  was  such  as  would  be  natural 
toward  an  old  and  trusted  friend,  but  he  hoped 
— never  before  had  he  realized  how  dear  this  hope 
was  becoming — that  some  day  she  would  awaken  to 
the  consciousness  that  he  might  be  more  than  a 
friend.  In  the  mean  time  he  would  be  patient,  and 
with  the  best  skill  he  could  master,  endeavor  to  win 
her  favor,  instead  of  putting  her  on  the  defensive  by 
seeking  her  love. 

"Two  elements  cannot  pass  into  combination 
until  there  is  mutual  readiness,"  reasoned  the 
scientist.  "  Contact  is  not  combination.  My  prov- 
ince is  to  watch  until  in  some  unguarded  moment 
she  gives  the  hope  that  she  would  listen  with  her 
heart.  To  speak  before  that,  either  by  word  or 
action,  would  be  pain  to  her  and  humiliation  to 
me." 

The  gulf  between  them  was  wide  indeed,  although 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  73 

she  smiled  so  genially  upon  him.  In  tying  up  a 
bundle  their  hands  touched.  He  felt  an  electric 
thrill  in  all  his  nerves  ;  she  only  noticed  the  circum- 
stance by  saying,  "Who  is  it  that  is  so  awkward, 
you  or  I  ?" 

"  You  are  Grace,"  he  replied.     "  It  was  I." 

"  I  should  be  graceless  indeed  were  I  to  find  fault 
with  anything  to-day,"  she  said  impulsively,  and 
raising  her  head  she  looked  away  into  the  west  as  if 
her  thoughts  had  followed  her  eyes. 

"It  certainly  is  a  very  fine  day,"  Graham  re- 
marked sententiously. 

She  turned  suddenly,  and  saw  that  he  was  watch- 
ing her  keenly.  Conscious  of  her  secret  she  blushed 
under  his  detected  scrutiny,  but  laughed  lightly,  say- 
ing, "You  are  a  happy  man,  Mr.  Graham,  for  you 
suggest  that  perfect  weather  leaves  nothing  else  to 
be  desired." 

"Many  have  to  be  content  with  little  else,"  he 
replied,  "and  days  like  this  are  few  and  far  be- 
tween." 

"Not  few  and  far  between  for  me,"  she  mur- 
mured to  herself  as  she  moved  away. 

She  was  kinder  and  more  friendly  to  Graham  than 
ever  before,  but  the  cause  was  a  letter  received  that 
morning,  against  which  her  heart  now  throbbed. 
She  had  written  to  Hilland  of  Graham,  and  of  her 
enjoyment  of  his  society,  dwelling  slightly  on  his 
disposition  to  make  himself  agreeable  without  ten- 
dencies toward  sentiment  and  gallantry. 

Love  is  quick  to  take  alarm,  and  although 
Graham  was  his  nearest  friend,  Hilland  could  not 


74  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

endure  the  thought  of  leaving  the  field  open  to  him 
or  to  any  one  a  day  longer.  He  knew  that  Graham 
was  deliberate  and  by  no  means  susceptible.  And 
yet,  to  him,  the  fact  conveyed  by  the  letter  that  his 
recluse  friend  had  found  the  society  of  Grace  so 
satisfactory  that  he  had  lingered  on  week  after  week 
spoke  volumes.  It  was  not  like  his  studious  and 
solitary  companion  of  old.  Moreover,  he  understood 
Graham  sufficiently  well  to  know  that  Grace  would 
have  peculiar  attractions  for  him,  and  that  upon  a 
girl  of  her  mind  he  would  make  an  impression  very 
different  from  that  which  had  led  society  butterflies 
to  shun  him  as  a  bore.  Her  letter  already  indicated 
this  truth.  The  natural  uneasiness  that  he  had  felt 
all  along  lest  some  master  spirit  should  appear  was 
intensified.  Although  Graham  was  so  quiet  and 
undemonstrative,  Hilland  knew  him  to  be  possessed 
of  an  indomitable  energy  of  will  when  once  it  was 
aroused  and  directed  toward  an  object.  Thus  far 
from  Grace's  letter  he  believed  that  his  friend  was 
only  interested  in  the  girl  of  his  heart,  and  he 
determined  to  forestall  trouble,  if  possible,  and 
secure  the  fruits  of  his  patient  waiting  and  wooing,  if 
any  were  to  be  gathered.  At  the  same  time  he 
resolved  to  be  loyal  to  his  friend,  as  far  as  he  could 
admit  his  claims,  and  he  wrote  a  glowing  eulogy  of 
Graham,  unmarred  by  a  phrase  or  word  of  detraction. 
Then,  as  frankly,  he  admitted  his  fears,  in  regard  not 
only  to  Graham,  but  to  others,  and  followed  these 
words  with  a  strong  and  impassioned  plea  in  his  own 
behalf,  assuring  her  that  time  and  absence,  so  far 
from  diminishing  her  mastery  over  him,  had  ren- 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  75 

dered  it  complete.  He  entreated  for  permission  to 
come  to  her,  saying  that  his  business  interests,  vast 
as  they  were,  counted  as  less  than  nothing  compared 
with  the  possession  of  her  love, — that  he  would 
have  pressed  his  suit  by  personal  presence  long  be- 
fore had  not  obligations  to  others  detained  him. 
These  obligations  he  now  could  and  would  delegate, 
for  all  the  wealth  of  the  mines  on  the  continent 
would  only  be  a  burden  unless  she  could  share  it 
with  him.  He  also  informed  her  that  a  ring  made 
of  gold,  which  he  himself  had  mined  deep  in  the 
mountain's  heart,  was  on  the  way  to  her, — that  his 
own  hands  had  helped  to  fashion  the  rude  circlet, — 
and  that  it  was  significant  of  the  truth  that  he  sought 
her  not  from  the  vantage  ground  of  wealth,  but  be- 
cause of  a  manly  devotion  that  would  lead  him  to 
delve  in  a  mine  or  work  in  a  shop  for  her,  rather 
than  live  a  life  of  luxury  with  any  one  else  in  the 
world. 

For  the  loving  girl  what  a  treasure  was  such  a 
letter  !  The  joy  it  brought  was  so  overwhelming 
that  she  was  glad  of  the  distractions  which  Mrs. 
Mayburn's  little  excursion  promised.  She  wished  to 
quiet  the  tumult  at  her  heart,  so  that  she  could  write 
as  an  earnest  woman  to  an  earnest  man,  which  she 
could  not  do  on  this  bright  June  morning,  with  her 
heart  keeping  tune  with  every  bird  that  sang.  Such 
a  response  as  she  then  might  have  made  would  have 
been  the  one  he  would  have  welcomed  most,  but 
she  did  not  think  so.  **  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  him  know  how  my  head  is  turned,"  she  had 
laughingly  assured  herself,  not  dreaming  that  such 


76  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

an  admission  would  disturb  his  equilibrium  to  a  far 
greater  degree. 

"  After  a  day,"  she  thought,  "  out  of  doors  with 
Mrs.  Mayburn's  genial  common-sense  and  Mr. 
Graham's  cool,  half-cynical  philosophy  to  steady 
me,  I  shall  be  sane  enough  to  answer." 

They  were  soon  bowling  away  in  a  strong,  three- 
seated  rockaway,  well  suited  to  country  roads, 
Graham  driving,  with  the  object  of  his  thoughts  and 
hopes  beside  him.  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  the  major  oc- 
cupied the  back  seat,  while  Jinny,  with  a  capacious 
hamper,  was  in  the  middle  seat,  and  in  the  estima- 
tion of  the  diplomatic  aunt  made  a  good  screen  and 
division. 

All  seemed  to  promise  well  for  her  schemes,  for 
the  young  people  appeared  to  be  getting  on  wonder- 
fully together.  There  was  a  constant  succession  of 
jest  and  repartee.  Grace  was  cordiality  itself  ;  and  in 
Graham's  eyes  that  morning  there  was  coming  an  ex- 
pression of  which  he  may  not  have  been  fully  aware, 
or  which  at  last  he  would  permit  to  be  seen.  In- 
deed, he  was  yielding  rapidly  to  the  spell  of  her 
beauty  and  the  charm  of  her  mind  and  manner.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  strange,  exquisite  exhilaration. 
Every  nerve  in  his  body  seemed  alive  to  her 
presence,  while  the  refined  and  delicate  curves  of  her 
cheek  and  throat  gave  a  pleasure  which  no  statue 
in  the  galleries  of  Europe  had  ever  imparted. 

He  wondered  at  all  this,  for  to  him  it  was  indeed 
a  new  experience.  His  past  with  its  hopes  and  am- 
bitions seemed  to  have  floated  away  to  an  indefinite 
distance,  and  he  to  have  awakened  to  a  new  life,-  -a 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  77 

new  phase  of  existence.  In  the  exaltation  of  the 
hour  he  felt  that,  whatever  might  be  the  result,  he 
had  received  a  revelation  of  capabilities  in  his  na- 
ture of  which  he  had  not  dreamed,  and  which  at 
the  time  promised  to  compensate  for  any  conse- 
quent reaction.  He  exulted  in  his  human  organism 
as  a  master  in  music  might  rejoice  over  the  dis- 
covery of  an  instrument  fitted  to  respond  perfectly 
to  his  genius.  Indeed,  the  thought  crossed  his  mind 
more  than  once  that  day  that  the  marvel  of  marvels 
was  that  mere  clay  could  be  so  highly  organized.  It 
was  not  his  thrilling  nerves  alone  which  suggested 
this  thought,  or  the  pure  mobile  face  of  the  young 
girl,  so  far  removed  from  any  suggestion  of  earthli- 
ness,  but  a  new  feeling,  developing  in  his  heart, 
that  seemed  so  deep  and  strong  as  to  be  deathless. 

They  reached  their  destination  in  safety.  The 
June  sunlight  would  have  made  any  place  attractive, 
but  the  brow  of  the  swelling  hill  with  its  wide  out- 
look, its  background  of  grove  and  intervening  vistas, 
left  nothing  to  be  desired.  The  horses  were  soon 
contentedly  munching  their  oats,  and  yet  their 
stamping  feet  and  switching  tails  indicated  that  even 
for  the  brute  creation  there  is  ever  some  alloy. 
Graham,  however,  thought  that  fortune  had  at  last 
given  him  one  perfect  day.  There  was  no  percep- 
tible cloud.  The  present  was  so  eminently  satis- 
factory that  it  banished  the  past,  or,  if  remembered, 
it  served  as  a  foil.  The  future  promised  a  chance 
for  happiness  that  seemed  immeasurable,  although 
the  horizon  of  his  brief  existence  was  so  near  ;  for  he 
felt  that  with  her  as  his  own,  human  life  with  all  its 


78  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

limitations  was  a  richer  gift  than  he  had  ever  imag- 
ined ppssible.  And  yet,  like  a  slight  and  scarcely- 
heard  discord,  the  thought  would  come  occasionally, 
*'  Since  so  much  is  possible,  more  ought  to  be  possi- 
ble. With  such  immense  capability  for  life  as  I  am 
conscious  of  to-day,  how  is  it  that  this  life  is  but  a 
passing  and  perishing  manifestation  ?" 

Such  impressions  took  no  definite  form,  however, 
but  merely  passed  through  the  dim  background  of 
his  consciousness,  while  he  gave  his  whole  soul  to 
the  effort  to  make  the  day  one  that  from  its  unal- 
loyed pleasure  could  not  fail  to  recall  him  to  the 
memory  of  Miss  St.  John.  He  believed  himself  to 
be  successful,  for  he  felt  as  if  inspired.  He  was 
ready  with  a  quick  reply  to  all  her  mirthful  sallies, 
and  he  had  the  tact  to  veil  his  delicate  flattery 
under  a  manner  and  mode  of  speech  that  suggested 
rather  than  revealed  his  admiration.  She  was 
honestly  delighted  with  him  and  his  regard,  as  she 
understood  it,  and  she  congratulated  herself  again 
and  again  that  Hilland's  friend  was  a  man  that  she 
also  would  find  unusually  agreeable.  His  kindness 
to  her  father  had  warmed  her  heart  toward  him,  and 
now  his  kindness  and  interest  were  genuine,  al- 
though at  first  somewhat  hollow  and  assumed. 

Graham  had  become  a  decided  favorite  with  the 
old  gentleman,  for  he  had  proved  the  most  efficient 
ally  that  Grace  had  ever  gained  in  quickening  the 
pace  of  heavy-footed  Time.  Even  the  veteran's 
chilled  blood  seemed  to  feel  the  influences  of  the 
day,  and  his  gallantry  toward  Mrs.  Mayburn  was 
more  pronounced  than  usual.      "We,   too,  will  be 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  79 

young  people  once  more,"  he  remarked,  "  for  the 
opportunity  may  not  come  to  us  again." 

They  discussed  their  lunch  with  zest,  they  smiled 
into  one  another's  face,  and  indulged  in  little  pleas- 
antries that  were  as  light  and  passing  as  the  zephyrs 
that  occasionally  fluttered  the  leaves  above  their 
heads ;  but  deep  in  each  heart  were  memories, 
tides  of  thought,  hopes,  fears,  joys,  that  form  the 
tragic  background  of  all  human  life.  The  old  major 
gave  some  reminiscences  of  his  youthful  campaign- 
ing. In  his  cheerful  mood  his  presentation  of  them 
was  in  harmony  with  the  sunny  afternoon.  The 
bright  sides  of  his  experiences  were  toward  his 
auditors,  but  what  dark  shadows  of  wounds,  agony, 
and  death  were  on  the  farther  side  !  And  of  these  he 
could  never  be  quite  unconscious,  even  while  awak- 
ening laughter  at  the  comic  episodes  of  war. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  seemed  her  plain-spoken,  cheery 
self,  intent  only  on  making  the  most  of  this  genial 
hour  in  the  autumn  of  her  life,  and  yet  she  was  watch- 
ing over  a  hope  that  she  felt  might  make  her  last  days 
her  best  days.  She  was  almost  praying  that  the  fair 
girl  whom  she  had  so  learned  to  love  might  become 
the  solace  of  her  age,  and  fill,  in  her  childless  heart, 
a  place  that  had  ever  been  an  aching  void.  Miss 
St.  John  was  too  preoccupied  to  see  any  lover  but 
one,  and  he  was  ever  present,  though  thousands  of 
miles  away.  But  she  saw  in  Graham  his  friend,  and 
had  already  accepted  him  also  as  her  most  agreeable 
friend,  liking  him  all  the  better  for  his  apparent 
disposition  to  appeal  only  to  her  fancy  and  reason, 
instead  of  her  heart.     She  saw  well  enough  that  he 


8o  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

liked  her  exceedingly,  but  Hilland's  impetuous 
wooing  and  impassioned  words  had  made  her  feel 
that  there  was  an  infinite  difference  between  liking 
and  loving  ;  and  she  pictured  to  herself  the  pleas- 
ure they  would  both  enjoy  when  finding  that  their 
seemingly  chance  acquaintance  was  but  preparation 
for  the  closer  ties  which  their  several  relations  to 
Hilland  could  not  fail  to  occasion. 

The  object  of  this  kindly  but  most  temperate  re- 
gard smiled  into  her  eyes,  chatted  easily  on  any 
topic  suggested,  and  appeared  entirely  satisfied  ;  but 
was  all  the  while  conscious  of  a  growing  need  which, 
denied,  would  impoverish  his  life,  making  it,  brief 
even  as  he  deemed  it  to  be,  an  intolerable  burden. 
But  on  this  summer  afternoon  hope  was  in  the 
ascendant,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  the  craving  of 
all  that  was  best  and  noblest  in  his  nature  should 
not  be  met.  When  a  supreme  affection  first  masters 
the  heart  it  often  carries  with  it  a  certain  assurance 
that  there  must  be  a  response,  that  when  so  much  is 
given  by  a  subtle,  irresistible,  unexpected  impulse, 
the  one  receiving  should,  sooner  or  later,  by  some 
law  of  correspondence,  be  inclined  to  return  a  similar 
regard.  All  living  things  in  nature,  when  not  in- 
terfered with,  at  the  right  time  and  in  the  right  way, 
sought  and  found  what  was  essential  to  the  com- 
pletion of  their  life,  and  he  was  a  part  of  nature. 
According  to  the  law  of  his  own  individuality  he  had 
yielded  to  Miss  St.  John's  power.  His  reason  had 
kept  pace  with  his  heart.  He  had  advanced  to  his 
present  attitude  toward  her  like  a  man,  and  had  not 
been    driven    to    it    by   the    passion    of   an   animal. 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  8 1 

Therefore  he  was  hopeful,  self-complacent,  and  reso- 
lute. He  not  only  proposed  to  win  the  girl  he 
loved,  cost  what  it  might  in  time  and  effort,  but  in 
the  exalted  mood  of  the  hour  felt  that  he  could  and 
must  win  her. 

She,  all  unconscious,  smiled  genially,  and  indeed 
seemed  the  very  embodiment  of  mirth.  Her  talk 
was  brilliant,  yet  interspersed  with  strange  lapses 
that  began  to  puzzle  him.  Meanwhile  she  scarcely 
saw  him,  gave  him  but  the  passing  attention  with 
which  one  looks  up  from  an  absorbing  story,  and  all 
the  time  the  letter  against  which  her  heart  pressed 
seemed  alive  and  endowed  with  the  power  to  make 
each  throb  more  glad  and  full  of  deep  content. 

How  isolated  and  inscrutable  is  the  mystery  of 
each  human  life  !  Here  were  four  people  strongly 
interested  in  each  other  and  most  friendly,  between 
whom  was  a  constant  interchange  of  word  and  glance, 
and  yet  their  thought  and  feeling  were  flowing  in 
strong  diverse  currents,  unseen  and  unsuspected. 

As  the  day  declined  they  all  grew  more  silent  and 
abstracted.  Deeper  shadows  crept  into  the  vistas 
of  memory  with  the  old,  and  those  who  had  become 
but  memories  were  with  them  again  as  they  had  been 
on  like  June  days  half  a  century  before.  With  the 
young  the  future,  outlined  by  hope,  took  forms  so 
absorbing  that  the  present  was  forgotten.  Ostensi- 
bly they  were  looking  off  at  the  wide  and  diversified 
landscape  ;  in  reality  they  were  contemplating  the 
more  varied  experiences,  actual  and  possible,  of 
life. 

At  last  the  major  complained  querulously  that  he 


82  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

was  growing  chilly.  The  shadow  in  which  he 
shivered  was  not  caused  by  the  si'. king  sun.. 

The  hint  was  taken  at  once,  and  in  a  few  moments 
they  were  on  their  way  homeward.  The  old  spor- 
tive humor  of  the  morning  did  not  return.  The 
major  was  the  aged  invalid  again.  Mrs.  Mayburn 
and  Graham  were  perplexed,  for  Grace  had  seem- 
ingly become  remote  from  them  all.  She  was  as 
kind  as  ever  ;  indeed  her  manner  was  characterized 
by  an  unusual  gentleness  ;  but  they  could  not  but  see 
that  her  thoughts  were  not  with  them.  The  first 
tumultuous  torrent  of  her  joy  had  passed,  and  with  it 
her  girlhood.  Now,  as  an  earnest  woman,  she  was 
approaching  the  hour  of  her  betrothal,  when  she 
would  write  words  that  would  bind  her  to  another 
and  give  direction  to  all  her  destiny.  Her  form  was 
at  Graham's  side ;  the  woman  was  not  there. 
Whither  and  to  v/hom  had  she  gone  ?  The  question 
caused  him  to  turn  pale  with  fear. 

**  Miss  Grace,"  he  said  at  last,  and  there  was  a 
tinge  of  reproach  in  his  voice,  ''where  are  you? 
You  left  us  some  time  since,"  and  he  turned  and 
tried  to  look  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

She  met  his  without  confusion  or  rise  in  color. 
Her  feelings  had  become  so  deep  and  earnest,  so 
truly  those  of  a  woman  standing  on  the  assured 
ground  of  fealty  to  another,  that  she  was  beyond  her 
former  girlish  sensitiveness  and  its  quick,  involun- 
tary manifestations.  She  said  gently,  "  Pardon  me, 
Mr.  Graham,  for  my  unsocial  abstraction.  You  de- 
serve better  treatment  for  all  your  efforts  for  our 
enjoyment  to-day." 


SUPREME  MOMENTS.  83 

"Please  do  not  come  back  on  compulsion,"  he 
said.  "  I  do  not  think  I  am  a  natural  Paul  Pry, 
but  I  would  like  to  know  where  you  have  been." 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  day,"  she  said,  with  a  smile 
that  was  so  friendly  that  his  heart  sprang  up  in  re- 
newed hope.  Then,  as  if  remembering  what  was 
due  to  him  and  the  others,  she  buried  her  thoughts 
deep  in  her  heart  until  she  could  be  alone  with  them 
and  their  object.  And  yet  her  secret  joy,  like  a 
hidden  fire,  tinged  all  her  words  with  a  kindly 
warmth.  Graham  and  his  aunt  were  not  only  pleased 
but  also  perplexed,  for  both  were  conscious  of 
something  in  Grace's  manner  which  they  could  not 
understand.  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  sanguine  that  her 
June-day  strategy  was  bringing  forth  the  much 
desired  results  ;  her  nephew  only  hoped.  They  all 
parted  with  cordial  words,  which  gave  slight  hint  of 
that  which  was  supreme  in  each  mind. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     REVELATION. 

GRAHAM  found  letters  which  required  his  ab- 
sence for  a  day  or  two,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
eminently  fitting  that  he  should  go  over  in  the  even- 
ing and  say  good-by  to  Miss  St.  John.  Indeed  he 
was  disposed  to  say  more,  if  the  opportunity  offered. 
His  hopes  sank  as  he  saw  that  the  first  floor  was 
darkened,  and  in  answer  to  his  summons  Jinny  in- 
formed him  that  the  major  and  Miss  Grace  were 
*'  po'ful  tired"  and  had  withdrawn  to  their  rooms. 

He  trembled  to  find  how  deep  was  his  disappoint- 
ment, and  understood  as  never  before  that  his  old 
self  had  ceased  to  exist.  A  month  since  no  one 
was  essential  to  him  ;  now  his  being  had  become 
complex.  Then  he  could  have  crossed  the  ocean 
with  a  few  easily  spoken  farewells  ;  now  he  could 
not  go  away  for  a  few  hours  without  feeling  that  he 
must  see  one  who  was  then  a  stranger.  The  mean- 
ing of  this  was  all  too  plain,  and  as  he  walked 
away  in  the  June  starlight  he  admitted  it  fully. 
Another  life  had  become  essential  to  his  own.  And 
still  he  clung  to  his  old  philosophy,  muttering, 
"  If  this  be  true,  why  will  not  my  life  become  as 


THE  REVELATION.  85 

needful  to  her?"  His  theory,  like  many  another, 
was  a  product  of  wishes  rather  than  an  induction 
from  facts. 

When  he  returned  after  a  long  ramble,  the  light 
still  burning  in  Miss  St.  John's  window  did  not 
harmonize  with  the  story  of  the  young  girl's  fatigue. 
The  faint  rays,  however,  could  reveal  nothing,  al- 
though they  had  illumined  page  after  page  traced 
full  of  words  of  such  vital  import  to  him. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  shared  his  early  breakfast,  and  be- 
fore he  took  his  leave  he  tried  to  say  in  an  easy, 
natural  manner  : 

"  Please  make  my  adieus  to  Miss  St.  John,  and 
say  I  called  to  present  them  in  person,  but  it  seemed 
she  had  retired  with  the  birds.  The  colored  divinity 
informed  me  that  she  was  '  po'ful  tired,'  and  I  hope 
you  will  express  my  regret  that  the  day  proved  so 
exceedingly  wearisome." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  lifted  her  keen  gray  eyes  to  her 
nephew's  face,  and  a  slow  rising  flush  appeared 
under  her  scrutiny.  Then  she  said  gently,  '*  That's 
a  long  speech,  Alford,  but  I  don't  think  it  ex- 
presses your  meaning.  If  I  give  your  cordial  good- 
by  to  Grace  and  tell  her  that  you  hope  soon  to  see 
her  again,  shall  I  not  better  carry  out  your  wishes  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  grave  and  candid  reply. 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  earnest  now." 

"I  am,  indeed,"  he  replied,  almost  solemnly, 
and  with  these  vague  yet  significant  words  they 
came  to  an  understanding. 

Three  days  elapsed,  and  still  Graham's  business 
was  not  completed.     In  his  impatience  he  left  it  un- 


86  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

finished  and  returned.  How  his  heart  bounded  as 
he  saw  the  familiar  cottage  !  With  hasty  steps  he 
passed  up  the  path  from  the  street.  It  was  just  such 
another  evening  as  that  which  had  smiled  upon  his 
first  coming  to  his  aunt's  residence,  only  now  there 
was  summer  warmth  in  the  air,  and  the  richer,  fuller 
promise  of  the  year.  The  fragrance  that  filled  the 
air,  if  less  delicate,  was  more  penetrating,  and  came 
from  flowers  that  had  absorbed  the  sun's  strengthen- 
ing rays.  If  there  was  less  of  spring's  ecstasy  in 
the  song  of  the  birds,  there  was  now  in  their  notes 
that  which  was  in  truer  accord  with  Graham's 
mood. 

At  a  turn  of  the  path  he  stopped  short,  for  on  the 
rustic  seat  beneath  the  apple-tree  he  saw  Miss  St. 
John  reading  a  letter  ;  then  he  went  forward  to 
greet  her,  almost  impetuously,  with  a  glow  in  his 
face  and  a  light  in  his  eyes  which  no  one  had  ever 
seen  before.  She  rose  to  meet  him,  and  there  was 
an  answering  gladness  in  her  face  which  made  her 
seem  divine  to  him. 

''You  are  welcome,"  she  said  cordially.  *' We 
have  all  missed  you  more  than  we  dare  tell  you  ;" 
and  she  gave  his  hand  a  warm,  strong  pressure. 

The  cool,  even-pulsed  man,  who  as  a  boy  had 
learned  to  hide  his  feelings,  was  for  a  moment  un- 
able to  speak.  His  own  intense  emotion,  his  all- 
absorbing  hope,  blinded  him  to  the  character  of  her 
greeting,  and  led  him  to  give  it  a  meaning  it  did  not 
possess.  She,  equally  preoccupied  with  her  one 
thought,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  surprise, 
and  then  cried,  "He  has  told  you — has  written  ?" 


THE   REVELATION.  87 

"  He  !  who?"  Graham  exclaimed  with  a  blanch- 
ing face. 

"  Why,  Warren  Hilland,  your  friend.  I  told  you 
I  would  tell  you,  but  I  could  not  before  I  told 
him,"  she  faltered. 

He  took  an  uncertain  step  or  two  to  the  tree,  and 
leaned  against  it  for  support. 

The  young  girl  dropped  the  letter  and  clasped  her 
hands  in  her  distress.  "  It  was  on  the  drive — our 
return,  you  remember,"  she  began  incoherently. 
"■  You  asked  where  my  thoughts  were,  and  I  said  I 
would  tell  you  soon.  Oh  !  we  have  both  been  blind. 
I  am  so — so  sorry." 

Graham's  face  and  manner  had  indeed  been  an 
unmistakable  revelation,  and  the  frank,  generous  girl 
waited  for  no  conventional  acknowledgment  before 
uttering  what  was  uppermost  in  her  heart. 

By  an  effort  which  evidently  taxed  every  atom  of 
his  manhood,  Graham  gained  self-control,  and  said 
quietly,  "  Miss  St.  John,  I  think  better  of  myself  for 
having  loved  you.  If  I  had  known.  But  you  are  not 
to  blame.  It  is  I  who  have  been  blind,  for  you  have 
never  shown  other  than  the  kindly  regard  which  was 
most  natural,  knowing  that  I  was  Hilland's  friend. 
I  have  not  been  frank  either,  or  I  would  have  learned 
the  truth  long  ago.  I  disguised  the  growing  interest 
I  felt  in  you  from  the  first,  fearing  I  would  lose  my 
chance  if  you  understood  me  too  early.  I  am 
Hilland's  friend.  No  one  living  now  knows  him 
better  than  I  do,  and  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  I 
congratulate  you.  He  is  the  best  and  truest  man 
that  ever  lived." 


88  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

**  Will  you  not  be  my  friend,  also  ?"  she  faltered. 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly  as  he  replied,  ''Yes, 
for  life." 

"You  will  feel  differently  soon,"  said  the  young 
girl,  trying  to  smile  reassuringly.  ''You  will  see 
that  it  has  all  been  a  mistake,  a  misunderstanding  ; 
and  when  your  friend  returns  we  will  have  the  mer- 
riest, happiest.times  together." 

"  Could  you  soon  feel  differently  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh  !  why  did  you  say  that  ?"  she  moaned,  bury- 
ing her  face  in  her  hands.  "  If  you  will  suffer  even 
in  a  small  degree  as  I  should  !" 

Her  distress  was  so  evident  and  deep  that  he  stood 
erect  and  stepped  toward  her.  "  Why  are  you  so 
moved.  Miss  St.  John?"  he  asked.  "I  have 
merely  paid  you  the  highest  compliment  within  my 
power." 

Her  hands  dropped  from  her  face,  and  she  turned 
away,  but  not  so  quickly  as  to  hide  the  tears  that 
dimmed  her  lustrous  eyes.  His  lip  quivered  for  a 
moment  at  the  sight  of  them,  but  she  did  not  see  this. 

"You  have  merely  paid  me  a  compliment,"  she 
repeated  in  a  low  tone. 

The  lines  of  his  mouth  were  firm  now,  his  face 
grave  and  composed,  and  in  his  gray  eyes  only  a 
close  observer  might  have  seen  that  an  indomitable 
will  was  resuming  sway.  "Certainly,"  he  con- 
tinued, "and  such  compliments  you  have  received 
before  and  would  often  again  were  you  free  to  re- 
ceive them.  I  cannot  help  remembering  that  there 
is  nothing  unique  in  this  episode." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  doubtingly,  as  she 


THE  REVELATION.  89 

said  with  hesitation,  "You  then  regard  your— 
your — " 

"  My  vacation  experience,"  he  supplied. 

Her  eyes  widened  in  what  resembled  indignant 
surprise,  and  her  tones  grew  a  little  cold  and  con- 
strained as  she  again  repeated  his  words. 

"You  then  regard  your  experience  as  a  vacation 
episode." 

"Do  not  for  a  moment  think  I  have  been  insin- 
cere," he  said,  with  strong  emphasis,  "or  that  I 
would  not  have  esteemed  it  the  chief  honor  of  my 
life  had  I  been  successful — " 

"As  to  that,"  she  interrupted,  "there  are  so 
many  other  honors  that  a  man  can  win." 

"Assuredly.  Pardon  me.  Miss  St.  John,  but  I 
am  sure  you  have  had  to  inflict  similar  disappoint- 
ments before.     Did  not  the  men  survive  ?" 

The  girl  broke  out  into  a  laugh  in  which  there 
was  a  trace  of  bitterness.  "Survive!"  she  cried. 
"  Indeed  they  did.  One  is  already  married,  and 
another  I  happen  to  know  is  engaged.  I'm  sure 
I'm  glad,  however.  Your  logic  is  plain  and  forcible, 
Mr.  Graham,  and  you  relieve  my  mind  greatly. 
Men  must  be  different  from  women." 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  asking  me,  '  Could  you 
soon  feel  differently?  '  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment  and  flushed  slightly,  then 
queried  with  a  smile,  "  What  did  you  mean  by  say- 
ing that  I  should  soon  learn  to  feel  differently,  and 
that  when  Hilland  returned  we  should  have  the  mer- 
riest times  together?" 


90  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  confused  now  ;  and  she  saw 
that  her  words  were  hollow,  though  spoken  from  a 
kindly  impulse. 

He  relieved  her  by  continuing:  *' You  probably 
spoke  from  an  instinctive  estimate  of  me.  You 
remembered  what  a  cool  and  wary  suitor  I  had 
been.  Your  father  would  say  that  I  had  adopted 
an-army-of-observation  tactics,  and  I  might  have 
remembered  that  such  armies  rarely  accomplish 
much.  I  waited  for  you  to  show  some  sign  of 
weakness,  and  now  you  see  that  I  am  deservedly 
punished.  It  is  ever  best  to  face  the  facts  as  they 
are. ' ' 

"You  appear  frank,  Mr.  Graham,  and  you  cer- 
tainly have  not  studied  philosophy  in  vain." 

**  Why  should  I  not  take  a  philosophical  view  of 
the  affair  ?  In  my  policy,  which  I  thought  so  safe 
and  astute,  I  blundered.  If  from  the  first  I  had 
manifested  the  feeling" — the  young  girl  smiled 
slightly  at  the  word — **  which  you  inspired,  you 
would  soon  have  taught  me  the  wisdom  of  repress- 
ing its  growth.  Thus  you  see  that  you  have  not 
the  slightest  reason  for  self-censure  ;  and  I  can  go 
on  my  way,  at  least  a  wiser  man." 

She  bowed  gracefully,  as  she  said  with  a  laugh, 
**  I  am  now  beginning  to  understand  that  Mr. 
Graham  can  scarcely  regret  anything  which  adds  to 
his  stores  of  wisdom,  and  certainly  not  so  slight  an 
*  affair  '  as  a  '  vacation  episode.'  Now  that  we  have 
talked  over  this  little  misunderstanding  so  frankly 
and  rationally,  will  you  not  join  us  at  whist  to- 
night ?" 


THE  REVELATION.  91 

"Certainly.  My  aunt  and  I  will  come  over  as 
usual." 

Her  brow  contracted  in  perplexity  as  she  looked 
searchingly  at  him  for  a  moment ;  but  his  face  was 
simply  calm,  grave,  and  kindly  in  its  expression,  and 
yet  there  was  something  about  the  man  which  im- 
pressed her  and  even  awed  her — something  unseen, 
but  felt  by  her  woman's  intuition.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  it  was  felt  but  vaguely  at  the  time  ; 
for  Grace  after  ail  was  a  woman,  and  Graham's  ap- 
parent philosophy/  was  not  altogether  satisfactory. 
It  had  seemed  to  her  as  the  interview  progressed 
that  she  had  been  surprised  into  showing  a  distress 
and  sympathy  for  which  there  was  no  occasion — ' 
that  she  had  interpreted  a  cool,  self-poised  man  by 
her  own  passionate  heart  and  boundless  love.  In 
brief,  she  feared  she  had  been  sentimental  over  an 
occasion  which  Graham,  as  he  had  suggested,  was 
able  to  view  philosophically.  She  had  put  a  higher 
estimate  on  his  disappointment  than  he,  apparently  ; 
and  she  had  too  much  of  her  father's  spirit,  and  too 
much  womanly  pride  not  to  resent  this,  even  though 
she  was  partially  disarmed  by  this  very  disappoint- 
ment, and  still  more  so  by  his  self-accusation  and  his 
tribute  to  Hilland.  But  that  which  impressed  her 
most  was  something  of  which  she  saw  no  trace  in 
the  calm,  .self-controlled  man  before  her.  As  a  rule, 
the  soul's  life  is  hidden,  except  as  it  chooses  to 
reveal  itself ;  but  there  are  times  when  the  excess  of 
joy  or  suffering  cannot  be  wholly  concealed,  even 
though  every  muscle  is  rigid  and  the  face  marble. 
Therefore,  although  there  were  no  outward  signals 


92  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

of  distress,  Graham's  agony  was  not  without  its 
influence  on  the  woman  before  him,  and  it  led  her 
to  say,  gently  and  hesitatingly,  ''  But  you  promised 
to  be  my  friend,  Mr.  Graham." 

His  iron  will  almost  failed  him,  for  he  saw  how  far 
removed  she  was  from  those  women  who  see  and 
know  nothing  save  that  which  strikes  their  senses. 
He  had  meant  to  pique  her  pride  as  far  as  he  could 
without  offence,  even  though  he  sank  low  in  her 
estimation  ;  but  such  was  the  delicacy  of  her  percep- 
tions that  she  half  divined  the  trouble  he  sedulously 
strove  to  hide.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  sit  down  and 
cry  like  a  child  over  his  immeasurable  loss,  and  for 
a  second  feared  he  would  give  way.  There  was 
in  his  eyes  a  flash  of  anger  at  his  weakness,  but  it 
passed  so  quickly  that  she  could  scarcely  note,  much 
less  interpret  it. 

Then  he  stepped  forward  in  a  friendly,  hearty 
way,  and  took  her  hand  as  he  said,  "  Yes,  Miss  St. 
John,  and  I  will  keep  my  promise.  I  will  be  your 
friend  for  life.  If  you  knew  my  relations  to  Hil- 
land,  you  could  not  think  otherwise.  I  shall  tell 
him  when  we  meet  of  my  first  and  characteristic 
siege  of  a  woman's  heart,  of  the  extreme  and  pru- 
dent caution  with  which  I  opened  my  distant  paral- 
lels, and  how,  at  last,  when  I  came  within  tele- 
scopic sight  of  the  prize,  I  found  that  he  had  already 
captured  it.  My  course  has  been  so  perfectly  ab- 
surd that  I  must  laugh  in  spite  of  myself  ;"  and  he 
did  laugh  so  naturally  and  genially  that  Grace  was 
constrained  to  join  him,  although  the  trouble  and 
perplexity  did  not  wholly  vanish  from  her  eyes. 


THE  REVELATION.  93 

"  And  now, "he  concluded,  "  that  I  have  experi- 
enced my  first  natural  surprise,  I  will  do  more  than 
sensibly  accept  the  situation.  I  congratulate  you 
upon  it  as  no  one  else  can.  Had  I  a  sister  I  would 
rather  that  she  married  Hilland  than  any  other  man 
in  the  world.  We  thus  start  on  the  right  basis  for 
friendship,  and  there  need  be  no  awkward  restraint 
on  either  side.  I  must  now  pay  my  respects  to  my 
aunt,  or  I  shall  lose  not  only  her  good  graces  but  my 
supper  also  ;"  and  with  a  smiling  bow  he  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  up  the  path,  and  disappeared  within 
Mrs.  Mayburn's  open  door. 

Grace  looked  after  him,  and  the  perplexed  con- 
traction of  her  brow  deepened.  She  picked  up 
Hilland's  letter,  and  slowly  and  musingly  folded  it. 
Suddenly  she  pressed  a  fervent  kiss  upon  it,  and 
murmured,  "  Thank  God,  the  writer  of  this  has 
blood  in  his  veins  ;  and  yet — and  yet — he  looked  at 
first  as  if  he  had  received  a  mortal  wound,  and — and 
— all  the  time  I  felt  that  he  suffered.  But  very  pos- 
sibly I  am  crediting  him  with  that  which  would  be 
inevitable  were  my  case  his." 

With  bowed  head  she  returned  slowly  and 
thoughtfully  through  the  twilight  to  her  home. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   KINSHIP   OF   SUFFERING. 

WHEN  Graham  felt  that  he  had  reached  the 
refuge  of  his  aunt's  cottage,  his  self-control 
failed  him,  and  he  almost  staggered  into  the  dusky- 
parlor  and  sank  into  a  chair.  Burying  his  face  in 
his  hands,  he  muttered,  "  Fool,  fool,  fool  !"  and  a 
long,  shuddering  sigh  swept  through  his  frame. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  attitude  he  did  not 
know,  so  overwhelmed  was  he  by  his  sense  of  loss. 
At  last  he  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder  ;  he 
looked  up  and  saw  that  the  lamp  was  lighted  and 
that  his  aunt  was  standing  beside  him.  His  face 
was  so  altered  and  haggard  that  she  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  distress. 

Graham  hastily  arose  and  turned  down  the  light. 
**  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  look  upon  my 
weakness,"  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"  I  should  not  be  ashamed  of  having  loved  Grace 
St.  John,"  said  the  old  lady,  quietly. 

"  Nor  am  I.  As  I  told  her,  I  think  far  better  of 
myself  for  having  done  so.  A  man  who  has  seen 
her  as  I  have  would  be  less  than  a  man  had  he  not 
loved  her.      But  oh,  the  future,  the  future  T     How 


THE  KINSHIP   OF   SUFFERING,  95 

am  I  to  support  the  truth  that  my  love  is  useless, 
hopeless  ?" 

*'  Alford,  I  scarcely  need  tell  you  that  my  dis- 
appointment is  bitter  also.  I  had  set  my  heart  on 
this  thing." 

"  You  know  all,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  is  engaged  to  your  friend, 
Warren  Hilland.  She  came  over  in  the  dusk  of  last 
evening,  and,  sitting  just  where  you  are,  told  me  all. 
I  kept  up.  It  was  not  for  me  to  reveal  your  secret. 
I  let  the  happy  girl  talk  on,  kissed  her,  and  wished 
her  all  the  happiness  she  deserves.  Grace  is  unlike 
other  girls,  or  I  should  have  known  about  it  long 
ago.  I  don't  think  she  even  told  her  father  until 
she  had  first  written  to  him  her  full  acknowledg- 
ment. Your  friend,  however,  had  gained  her  father's 
consent  to  his  addresses  long  since.  She  told  me 
that." 

"  Oh,  my  awful  future  !"  he  groaned. 

"  Alford,"  Mrs.  Mayburn  said,  gently  but  firmly, 
**  think  of  her  future.  Grace  is  so  good  and  kind 
that  she  would  be  very  unhappy  if  she  saw  and 
heard  you  now.  I  hope  you  did  not  give  way  thus 
in  her  presence." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  room  rapidly 
at  first,  then  more  and  more  slowly.  Soon  he  turned 
up  the  light,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  surprised  at  the 
change  in  his  appearance. 

"■  You  are  a  strong,  sensible  woman,"  he  began. 

"Well,  I  will  admit  the  premise  for  the  sake  of 
learning  what  is  to  follow." 

**  Miss  S*^.  John  must  never  know  of  my  sense  of 


96  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

loss — my  present  despair,"  he  said,  in  low,  rapid 
speech.  "  Some  zest  in  life  may  come  back  to  me 
in  time  ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  shall  meet  my 
trouble  like  a  man.  To  make  her  suffer  now — to 
cloud  her  well-merited  happiness  and  that  of  my 
friend,  would  be  to  add  a  bitterness  beyond  that  of 
death.  Aunt,  you  first  thought  me  cold  and  in- 
capable of  strong  attachments,  and  a  few  weeks  since 
I  could  not  have  said  that  your  estimate  was  far 
astray,  although  I'm  sure  my  friendship  for  Hilland 
was  as  strong  as  the  love  of  most  men.  Until  I  met 
you  and  Grace  it  was  the  only  evidence  I  possessed 
that  I  had  a  heart.  Can  you  wonder  ?  He  was  the 
first  one  that  ever  showed  me  any  real  kindness.  I 
was  orphaned  in  bitter  truth,  and  from  childhood 
my  nature  was  chilled  and  benumbed  by  neglect  and 
isolation.  Growth  and  change  are  not  so  much 
questions  of  time  as  of  conditions.  From  the  first 
moment  that  I  saw  Grace  St.  John,  she  interested 
me  deeply  ;  and,  self-complacent,  self-confident  fool 
that  I  was,  I  thought  I  could  deal  with  the  supreme 
question  of  life  as  I  had  dealt  with  those  which  half 
the  world  never  think  about  at  all.  I  remember  your 
warning,  aunt  ;  and  yet,  as  I  said  to  myself  at  the 
time,  there  was  more  of  incentive  than  warning  in 
your  words.  How  self-confidently  I  smiled  over 
them.  How  perfectly  sure  I  was  that  I  could  enjoy 
this  rare  girl's  society  as  I  would  look  at  a  painting 
or  listen  to  a  symphony.  Almost  before  I  was 
aware,  I  found  a  craving  in  my  heart  which  I  now 
know  all  the  world  cannot  satisfy.  That  June 
day  which  you    arranged   so  kindly  in    my   behalf 


THE  KINSHIP  OF  SUFFERING.  97 

made  all  as  clear  as  the  cloudless  sun  that  shone 
upon  us.  That  day  I  was  revealed  fully  unto  my- 
self ;  but  my  hope  was  strong,  for  I  felt  that  by  the 
very  law  and  correspondence  of  nature  I  could  not 
have  such  an  immeasurable  need  without  having 
that  need  supplied.  In  my  impatience  I  left  my 
business  unfinished  and  returned  this  evening,  for  I 
could  not  endure  another  hour  of  delay.  She 
seemed  to  answer  my  glad  looks  when  we  met ;  she 
gave  her  hand  in  cordial  welcome.  I,  blinded  by 
feeling,  and  thinking  that  its  very  intensity  must 
awaken  a  like  return,  stood  speechless,  almost  over- 
whelmed by  my  transcendent  hope.  She  interpreted 
my  manner  naturally  by  what  was  uppermost  in 
her  mind,  and  exclaimed,  *  He  has  told  you — he 
has  written.'  In  a  moment  I  knew  the  truth,  and  I 
scarcely  think  that  a  knife  piercing  my  heart  could 
inflict  a  deeper  pang.  I  could  not  rally  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  When  shall  I  forget  the  sympathy — 
the  tears  that  dimmed  her  dear  eyes  !  I  have  a 
religion  at  last,  and  I  worship  the  divine  nature  of 
that  complete  woman.  The  thought  that  I  made 
her  suffer  aroused  my  manhood  ;  and  from  that 
moment  I  strove  to  make  light  of  the  affair, — to  give 
the  impression  that  she  was  taking  it  more  seriously 
than  I  did.  I  even  tried  to  pique  her  pride, — I  could 
not  wound  her  vanity,  for  she  has  none, — and  I  par- 
tially succeeded.  My  task,  however,  was  and  will 
be  a  difficult  one,  for  her  organization  is  so  delicate 
and  fine  that  she  feels  what  she  cannot  see.  But  I 
made  her  laugh  in  spite  of  herself  at  my  prudent, 
wary  wooing.     I  removed,  I  think,  all  constraint. 


98  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

and  we  can  meet  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Not 
that  we  can  meet  often, — that  would  tax  me  beyond 
my  strength, — but  often  enough  to  banish  soHcitude 
from  her  mind  and  from  Hilland's.  Now,  you  know 
the  facts  sufficiently  to  become  a  shrewd  and  effi- 
cient ally.  By  all  your  regard  for  me — what  is  far 
more,  by  all  your  love  for  her — I  entreat  you  let  me 
bring  no  cloud  across  her  bright  sky.  We  are  going 
over  to  whist  as  usual  to-night.  Let  all  be  as 
usual." 

"Heaven  bless  you,  Alford  !"  faltered  his  aunt, 
with  tearful  eyes. 

"  Heaven  !  what  a  mockery  !  Even  the  lichen, 
the  insect,  lives  a  complete  life,  while  we,  with  all 
our  reason,  so  often  blunder,  fail,  and  miss  that 
which  is  essential  to  existence." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  shook  her  head  slowly  and  thought- 
fully, and  then  said,  "  This  very  fact  should  teach 
us  that  our  philosophy  of  life  is  false.  We  are  both 
materialists, — I  from  the  habit  of  living  for  this  world 
only  ;  you,  I  suppose,  from  mistaken  reasoning  ;  but 
in  hours  like  these  the  mist  is  swept  aside,  and  I  feel, 
I  know,  that  this  life  cannot,  must  not,  be  all  in 
all." 

"  Oh,  hush  !"  cried  Graham,  desperately.  "  To 
cease  to  exist  and  therefore  to  suffer,  may  become 
the  best  one  can  hope  for.  Were  it  not  cowardly,  I 
would  soon  end  it  all." 

**  You  may  well  use  the  word  *  cowardly,'  "  said  his 
aunt  in  strong  emphasis  ;  "  and  brave  Grace  St.  John 
would  revolt  at  'and  despise  such  cowardice  by  every 
law  of  her  nature." 


THE  KINSHIP  OF  SUFFERING.  99 

"  Do  not  fear.  I  hope  never  to  do  anything  to 
forfeit  her  respect,  except  it  is  for  the  sake  of  her 
own  happiness,  as  when  to-day  I  tried  to  make 
her  think  my  veins  were  filled  with  ice-water  in- 
stead of  blood.  Come,  I  have  kept  you  far  too 
long.  Let  us  go  through  the  formality  of  supper  ; 
and  then  I  will  prove  to  you  that  if  I  have  been 
weak  here  I  can  be  strong  for  her  sake.  I  do  not  re- 
member my  mother  ;  but  nature  is  strong,  and  I  sup- 
pose there  comes  a  time  in  every  one's  life  when  he 
must  speak  to  some  one  as  he  would  to  a  mother. 
You  have  been  very  kind,  dear  aunt,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  that  you  have  wished  and  schemed  for  my 
happiness." 

The  old  lady  came  and  put  her  arm  around  the 
young  man's  neck  and  looked  into  his  face  with  a 
strange  wistfulness  as  she  said,  slowly,  "There  is 
no  blood  relationship  between  us,  Alford,  but  we  are 
nearer  akin  than  such  ties  could  make  us.  You  do 
not  remember  your  mother ;  I  never  had  a  child. 
But,  as  you  say,  nature  is  strong ;  and  although  I 
have  tried  to  satisfy  myself  with  a  hundred  things, 
the  mother  in  my  heart  has  never  been  content.  I 
hoped,  I  prayed,  that  you  and  Grace  might  become 
my  children.  Alford,  I  have  been  learning  of  late 
that  I  am  a  lonely,  unhappy  old  woman.  Will  you 
not  be  my  boy  ?  I  would  rather  share  your  sorrow 
than  be  alone  in  the  world  again." 

Graham  was  deeply  touched.  He  bowed  his  head 
upon  her  shoulder  as  if  he  were  her  son,  and  a  few 
hot  tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  "  Yes,  aunt,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  "  you  have  won  the  right  to  ask  any- 


lOO  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

thing  that  I  can  give.  Fate,  in  denying  us  both 
what  our  hearts  most  craved,  has  indeed  made 
us  near  akin  ;  and  there  can  be  an  unspoken  sym- 
pathy between  us  that  may  have  a  sustaining  power 
that  we  cannot  now  know.  You  have  already  taken 
the  bitterness,  the  despair  out  of  my  sorrow  ;  and 
should  I  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  I  shall  be  the 
better  for  having  you  to  think  of  and  care  for." 

"  And  you  feel  that  you  cannot  remain  here, 
Alford?" 

**  No,  aunt,  that  is  now  impossible  ;  that  is,  for 
the  present." 

**  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  she  admitted,  sadly. 

"  Come,  aunty  dear,  I  promised  Miss  St.  John 
that  we  would  go  over  as  usual  to-night,  and  I 
would  not  for  the  world  break  my  word." 

''Then  we  shall  go  at  once.  We  shall  have  a 
nice  little  supper  on  our  return.  Neither  of  us  is 
in  the  mood  for  it  now." 

After  a  hasty  toilet  Graham  joined  his  aunt.  She 
looked  at  him,  and  had  no  fears. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   ORDEAL. 

GRACE  met  them  at  the  door.  "  It  is  very  kind 
of  you,"  she  said,  "  to  come  over  this  even- 
ing after  a  fatiguing  journey." 

"  Very,"  he  replied,  laughingly ;  "  a  ride  of  fifty 
miles  in  the  cars  should  entitle  one  to  a  week's 
rest. ' ' 

**  I  hope  you  are  going  to  take  it." 

"  O,  no  ;  my  business  man  in  New  York  has  at 
last  aroused  me  to  heroic  action.  With  only  the 
respite  of  a  few  hours'  sleep  I  shall  venture  upon 
the  cars  again  and  plunge  into  all  perils  and  excite- 
ments of  a  real  estate  speculation.  My  property  is 
going  up,  and  'there's  a  tide,'  you  know,  'which 
taken  at  its  flood — '  " 

"  Leads  away  from  your  friends.  I  see  that  it  is 
useless  for  us  to  protest,  for  when  did  a  man  ever 
give  up  a  chance  for  speculation  ?" 

"  Then  it  is  not  the  fault  of  man  :  we  merely 
obey  a  general  law. ' ' 

"  That  is  the  way  with  you  scientists,"  she  said 
with  a  piquant  nod  and  smile.  "You  do  just  as 
you  please,  but  you  are  always  obeying  some  pro- 


I02  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

found  law  that  we  poor  mortals  know  nothing  about. 
We  don't  fall  back  upon  the  arrangements  of  the 
universe  for  our  motives,  do  we,  Mrs.  Mayburn  ?" 

"Indeed  we  don't,"  was  the  brusque  response. 
When  she  will,  she  will,  and  when  she  won't, 
she  won't,'  answers  for  us." 

"  Grace  !  Mrs.  Mayburn  !"  called  the  major  from 
the  parlor;  "  if  you  don't  come  soon  I'll  order  out 
the  guard  and  have  you  brought  in.  Mr.  Gra- 
ham," he  continued,  as  the  young  man  hastened  to 
greet  him,  "you  are  as  welcome  as  a  leave  of 
absence.  We  have  had  no  whist  since  you  left  us, 
and  we  are  nearly  an  hour  behind  time  to-night. 
Mrs.  Mayburn,  your  humble  servant.  Excuse  me 
for  not  rising.  Why  the  deuce  my  gout  should 
trouble  me  again  just  now  I  can't  see.  I've  not 
seen  you  since  that  juvenile  picnic  which  seemed  to 
break  up  all  our  regular  habits.  I  never  thought 
that  you  would  desert  me.  I  suppose  Mr.  Graham 
carries  a  roving  commission  and  can't  be  disciplined. 
I  propose,  however,  that  we  set  to  at  once  and  put 
the  hour  we've  lost  at  the  other  end  of  the  even- 
ing." 

It  was  evident  that  the  major  was  in  high  spirits, 
in  spite  of  his  catalogue  of  ills  ;  and  in  fact  his  daugh- 
ter's engagement  had  been  extremely  satisfactory 
to  him.  Conscious  of  increasing  age  and  infirmity, 
he  was  delighted  that  Grace  had  chosen  one  so 
abundantly  able  to  take  care  of  her  and  of  him  also. 
For  the  last  few  days  he  had  been  in  an  amiable 
mood,  for  he  felt  that  fortune  had  dealt  kindly  by 
him.     His  love  for  his  only  child  was  the  supreme 


THE   ORDEAL.  103 

affection  of  his  heart,  and  she  by  her  choice  had  ful- 
filled his  best  hopes.  Her  future  was  provided  for 
and  safe.  Then  from  the  force  of  long  habit  he 
thought  next  of  himself.  If  his  tastes  were  not  lux- 
urious, he  had  at  least  a  strong  liking  for  certain 
luxuries,  and  to  these  he  would  gladly  add  a  few 
more  did  his  means  permit.  He  was  a  connoisseur 
in  wines  and  the  pleasures  of  the  table, — not  that 
he  had  any  tendencies  toward  excess,  but  he  de- 
lighted to  sip  the  great  wines  of  the  world,  to  ex- 
patiate on  their  age,  character,  and  origin.  Some- 
times he  would  laughingly  say,  "  Never  dilate  on 
the  treasures  bequeathed  to  us  by  the  old  poets, 
sages,  and  artists,  but  for  inspiration  and  consola- 
tion give  me  a  bottle  of  old,  old  wine, — wine 
made  from  grapes  that  ripened  before  I  was  born." 
He  was  too  upright  a  man,  however,  to  gratify 
these  tastes  beyond  his  means  ;  but  Grace  was  an 
indulgent  and  skilful  housekeeper,  and  made  their 
slender  income  minister  to  her  father's  pleasure  in  a 
way  that  surprised  even  her  practical  friend,  Mrs. 
Mayburn.  In  explanation  she  would  laughingly 
say,  "  I  regard  housekeeping  as  a  fine  art.  The 
more  limited  your  materials  the  greater  the  genius 
required  for  producing  certain  results.  Now,  I'm  a 
genius,  Mrs.  Mayburn.  You  wouldn't  dream  it, 
would  you  }  Papa  sometimes  has  a  faint  conscious- 
ness of  the  fact  when  he  finds  on  his  table  wines  and 
dishes  of  which  he  knows  the  usual  cost.  *  My 
dear,*  he  will  say  severely,  'is  this  paid  for?' 
'Yes,'  I  reply,  meekly.  'How  did  you  manage 
it  ?  '     Then  I  stand  upon  my  dignity,  and  reply  with 


I04  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

offended  majesty,  *  Papa,  I  am  housekeeper.  You 
are  too  good  a  soldier  to  question  the  acts  of  your 
superior  officer.'  Then  he  makes  me  a  most  pro- 
found bow  and  apology,  and  rewards  me  amply  by 
his  almost  childlike  enjoyment  of  what  after  all  has 
only  cost  me  a  little  undetected  economy  and  skill 
in  cookery." 

But  the  major  was  not  so  blind  as  he  appeared  to 
be.  He  knew  more  of  her  *'  undetected"  econo- 
mies, which  usually  came  out  of  her  allowance, 
than  she  supposed,  and  his  conscience  often  re- 
proached him  for  permitting  them  ;  but  since  they 
appeared  to  give  her  as  much  pleasure  as  they 
afforded  him,  he  had  let  them  pass.  It  is  hard  for 
a  petted  and  weary  invalid  to  grow  in  self-denial. 
While  the  old  gentleman  would  have  starved  rather 
than  angle  for  Hilland  or  plead  his  cause  by  a  word 
— he  had  given  his  consent  to  the  young  man's  ad- 
dresses with  the  mien  of  a  major-general — he  never- 
theless foresaw  that  wealth  as  the  ally  of  his 
daughter's  affection  would  make  him  one  of  the 
most  discriminating  and  fastidious  gourmands  in 
the  land. 

In  spite  of  his  age  and  infirmity  the  old  soldier 
was  exceedingly  fond  of  travel  and  of  hotel  life.  He 
missed  the  varied  associations  of  the  army.  Pain  he 
had  to  endure  much  of  the  time,  and  from  it  there 
was  no  escape.  Change  of  place,  scene,  and  com- 
panionship diverted  his  mind,  and  he  partially  forgot 
his  sufferings.  As  we  have  shown,  he  was  a  de- 
vourer  of  newspapers,  but  he  enjoyed  the  world's 
gossip  far  more  when  he  could  talk  it  over  with 


THE   ORDEAL.  105 

ethers,  and  maintain  on  the  questions  of  the  day- 
half  a  dozen  good-natured  controversies.  When  at 
the  seashore  the  previous  summer  he  had  fought 
scores  of  battles  for  his  favorite  measures  with 
other  ancient  devotees  of  the  newspaper.  Grace 
had  made  Graham  laugh  many  a  time  by  her  in- 
imitable descriptions  of  the  quaint  tilts  and  chaffings 
of  these  graybeards,  as  each  urged  the  views  of 
his  favorite  journals  ;  and  then  she  would  say, 
''  You  ought  to  see  them  sit  down  to  whist.  Such 
prolonged  and  solemn  sittings  upset  ray  gravity 
more  than  all  their  bric-a-brac  jokes."  And  then 
she  had  sighed  and  said,  "  I  wish  we  could  have 
remained  longer,  for  papa  improved  so  much  and 
was  so  happy." 

The  time  was  coming  when  he  could  stay  longer, — 
as  long  as  he  pleased, — for  whatever  pleased  her 
father  would  please  Grace,  and  would  have  to  please 
her  husband.  Her  mother  when  dying  had  com- 
mitted the  old  man  to  her  care,  and  a  sacred  obliga- 
tion had  been  impressed  upon  her  childish  mind 
which  every  year  had  strengthened. 

As  we  have  seen,  Grace  had  given  her  heart  to 
Hilland  by  a  compulsion  which  she  scarcely  under- 
stood herself.  No  thrifty  calculations  had  had  the 
slightest  influence  in  bringing  the  mysterious  change 
of  feeling  that  had  been  a  daily  surprise  to  the 
young  girl.  She  had  turned  to  Hilland  as  the 
flower  turns  to  the  sun,  with  scarcely  more  than  the 
difference  that  she  was  conscious  that  she  was 
turning.  When  at  last  she  ceased  to  wonder  at  the 
truth  that  her  life  had  become  blended  with  that  of 


io6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

another — for,  as  her  love  developed,  this  union 
seemed  the  most  natural  and  inevitable  thing  in  the 
world — she  began  to  think  of  Hilland  more  than  of 
herself,  and  of  the  changes  which  her  new  relations 
would  involve.  It  became  one  of  the  purest  sources 
of  her  happiness  that  she  would  eventually  have 
the  means  of  gratifying  every  taste  and  whim  of  her 
father,  and  could  surround  him  with  all  the  comforts 
which  his  age  and  infirmities  permitted  him  to  enjoy. 
Thus  the  engagement  ring  on  Miss  St.  John's 
finger  had  its  heights  and  depths  of  meaning  to  both 
father  and  daughter ;  and  its  bright  golden  hue 
pervaded  all  the  prospects  and  possibilities — the 
least  as  well  as  the  greatest — of  the  future.  It  was 
but  a  plain  heavy  circlet  of  gold,  and  looked  like  a 
wedding-ring.  Such  to  Graham  it  seemed  to  be,  as 
its  sheen  flashed  upon  his  eyes  during  their  play, 
which  continued  for  two  hours  or  more,  with  scarcely 
a  remark  or  an  interruption  beyond  the  requirements 
of  the  game.  The  old  major  loved  this  complete 
and  scientific  absorption,  and  Grace  loved  to  humor 
him.  Moreover,  she  smiled  more  than  once  at  Gra- 
ham's intentness.  Never  had  he  played  so  well,  and 
her  father  had  to  put  forth  all  his  veteran  skill  and 
experience  to  hold  his  own.  **  To  think  that  I  shed 
tears  over  his  disappointment,  when  a  game  of  whist 
can  console  him  !"  she  thought.  "  How  different  he 
is  from  his  friend  !  I  suppose  that  is  the  reason  that 
they  are  such  friends, — they  are  so  unlike.  The  idea 
of  Warren  playing  with  that  quiet,  steady  hand  and 
composed  face  under  like  circumstances  I  And  yet, 
why  is  he  so  pale  ?" 


THE   ORDEAL.  I07 

Mrs.  Mayburn  understood  this  pallor  too  well, 
and  she  felt  that  the  ordeal  had  lasted  long  enough! 
She,  too,  had  acted  her  part  admirably,  but  now  she 
pleaded  fatigue,  saying  that  she  had  not  been  very 
well  for  the  last  day  or  two.  She  was  inscrutable 
to  Grace,  and  caused  no  misgivings.  It  is  easier  for 
a  woman  than  for  a  man  to  hide  emotions  from  a 
woman,  and  Mrs.  Mayburn's  gray  eyes  and  strong 
features  rarely  revealed  anything  that  she  meant  to 
conceal.  The  major  acquiesced  good-naturedly,  say- 
ing, "You  are  quite  right  to  stop,  Mrs.  Mayburn, 
and  I  surely  have  no  cause  to  complain.  We  have 
had  more  play  in  two  hours  than  most  people  have 
in  two  weeks.  I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Graham  ; 
you  are  becoming  a  foeman  worthy  of  any  man's 
steel." 

Graham  rose  with  the  relief  which  a  man  would 
feel  on  leaving  the  rack,  and  said,  smilingly,  "  Your 
enthusiasm  is  contagious.  Any  man  would  soon  be 
on  his  mettle  who  played  often  with  you." 

''  Is  enthusiasm  one  of  your  traits  ?"  Grace  asked, 
with  an  arch  smile  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  went  to 
ring  the  bell. 

"  What  !  Have  you  not  remarked  it  ?" 
"  Grace  has  been  too  preoccupied  to  remark  any- 
thing,—sly  puss  !"  said  the  major,  laughing  heartily. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Mayburn,  I  shall  ask  for  your  con- 
gratulations to-night.  I  know  we  shall  have  yours, 
Mr.  Graham,  for  Grace  has  informed  me  that  Hil- 
land  is  your  best  and  nearest  friend.  This  little  girl 
of  mine  has  been  playing  blind-man's-buff  with  her 
old  father.     She  thought  she  had  the  handkerchief 


io8  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

tight  over  my  eyes,  but  I  always  keep  one  corner 
raised  a  little.  Well,  Mr.  Graham,  this  dashing 
friend  of  yours,  who  thinks  he  can  carry  all  the 
world  by  storm,  asked  me  last  summer  if  he  could 
lay  siege  to  Grace.  I  felt  like  wringing  his  neck  for 
his  audacity  and  selfishness.  The  idea  of  any  one 
taking  Grace  from  me  !" 

"And  no  one  shall,  papa,"  said  Grace,  hiding 
her  blushing  face  behind  his  white  shock  of  hair. 
**  But  I  scarcely  think  these  details  will  interest — " 

**\Vhat!"  cried  the  bluff,  frank  old  soldier, — 
"  not  interest  Mrs.  Mayburn,  the  best  and  kindest 
of  neighbors  ?  not  interest  Hilland's  alter  ego  F" 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Graham,  laughing,  **  that  I 
am  deeply  interested ;  and  I  promise  you,  Miss 
Grace,  that  I  shall  give  Hilland  a  severer  curtain 
lecture  than  he  will  ever  receive  from  you,  because 
he  has  left  me  in  the  dark  so  long." 

"Stop  pinching  my  arm,"  cried  the  major,  who 
was  in  one  of  his  jovial  moods,  and  often  immense- 
ly enjoyed  teasing  his  daughter.  "You  may  well 
hide  behind  me.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  I'm  going  to  ex- 
pose a  rank  case  of  filial  deception  that  was  not  in 
the  least  successful.  This  *  I  came,  I  saw,  I  con- 
quered '  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Graham,  soon  dis- 
covered that  he  was  dealing  with  a  race  that  was 
not  in  the  habit  of  surrendering.  But  your  friend, 
like  Wellington,  never  knew  when  he  was  beaten. 
He  wouldn't  retreat  an  inch,  but  drawing  his  lines  as 
close  as  he  dared,  sat  down  to  a  regular  siege." 

Graham  again  laughed  outright,  and  with  a 
comical  glance  at  the  young  girl,  asked,  "Are  you 


THE   ORDEAL.  109 

sure,  sir,  that  Miss  St.  John  was  aware  of  these 
siege  operations  ?" 

"  Indeed  she  was.  Your  friend  raised  his  flag  at 
once,  and  nailed  it  to  the  staff.  And  this  little 
minx  thought  that  she  could  deceive  an  old  soldier 
like  myself  by  playing  the  role  of  disinterested 
friend  to  a  lonely  young  man  condemned  to  the 
miseries  of  a  mining  town.  I  was  often  tempted  to 
ask  her  why  she  did  not  extend  her  sympathy  to 
scores  of  young  fellows  in  the  service  who  are  in 
danger  of  being  scalped  every  day.  But  the  joke  of 
it  was  that  I  knew  she  was  undermined  and  must 
surrender  long  before  Hilland  did." 

"  Now,  papa,  it's  too  bad  of  you  to  expose  me  in 
this  style.  I  appeal  to  Mrs.  Mayburn  if  I  did  not 
keep  my  flag  flying  so  defiantly  to  the  last  that  even 
she  did  not  suspect  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  dryly  ;  "  I  can  testify 
to  that." 

"Which  is  only  another  proof  of  my  penetra- 
tion," chuckled  the  major.  "Well,  well,  it  is  so 
seldom  I  can  get  ahead  of  Grace  in  anything  that  I 
like  to  make  the  most  of  my  rare  good  fortune  ;  and 
it  seems,  Mr.  Graham,  as  if  you  and  your  aunt  had 
already  become  a  part  of  our  present  and  prospec- 
tive home  circle.  I  have  seen  a  letter  in  which 
Warren  speaks  of  you  in  a  way  that  reminds  me  of 
a  friend  who  was  shot  almost  at  my  side  in  a  fight 
with  the  Indians.  That  was  nearly  half  a  century 
ago,  and  yet  no  one  has  taken  his  place.  With  men, 
friendships  mean  something,  and  last." 

"Come,   come,"    cried    Mrs.  Mayburn,   bristling 


no  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

up,  "  neither  Grace  nor  I  will  permit  such  an  im- 
plied slur  upon  our  sex." 

"  My  friendship  for  Hilland  will  last,"  said  Gra- 
ham, with  quiet  emphasis.  "  Most  young  men  are 
drawn  together  by  a  mutual  liking, — by  something 
congenial  in  their  natures.  I  owe  him  a  debt  of 
gratitude  that  can  never  be  repaid.  He  found  me 
a  lonely,  neglected  boy,  who  had  scarcely  ever 
known  kindness,  much  less  affection,  and  his  ardent, 
generous  nature  became  an  antidote  to  my  gloomy 
tendencies.  From  the  first  he  has  been  a  constant 
and  faithful  friend.  He  has  not  one  unworthy 
trait.  But  there  is  nothing  negative  about  him,  for 
he  abounds  in  the  best  and  most  manly  qualities, 
and  I  think,"  he  concluded,  speaking  slowly  and  de- 
liberately, as  if  he  were  making  an  inward  vow, 
"  that  I  shall  prove  worthy  of  his  trust  and  regard." 

Grace  looked  at  him  earnestly  and  gratefully,  and 
the  thought  again  asserted  itself  that  she  had  not 
yet  gauged  his  character  or  his  feeling  toward  her- 
self. To  her  surprise  she  also  noted  that  Mrs. 
Mayburn's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  but  the  old 
lady  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  misled  her  by 
saying,  "  I  feel  condemned,  Alford,  that  you  should 
have  been  so  lonely  and  neglected  in  early  life,  but 
I  know  it  was  so. ' ' 

"  O,  well,  aunt,  you  know  I  was  not  an  interest- 
ing boy,  and  had  I  been  imposed  upon  you  in  my 
hobbledehoy  period,  our  present  relations  might 
never  have  existed.  I  must  ask  your  congratulations 
also,"  he  continued,  turning  toward  the  major  and 
his    daughter.      My  aunt    and   I    have    in    a   sense 


THE   ORDEAL.  lii 

adopted  each  other.  I  came  hither  to  pay  her  a 
formal  call,  and  have  made  another  very  dear 
friend." 

"  Have  you  made  only  one  friend  since  you 
became  our  neighbor?"  asked  Grace,  with  an  ac- 
cent of  reproach  in  her  voice. 

"  I  would  very  gladly  claim  you  and  your  father 
as  such,"  he  replied,  smilingly. 

The  old  major  arose  with  an  alacrity  quite  sur- 
prising in  view  of  his  lameness,  and  pouring  out  two 
glasses  of  the  wine  that  Jinny  had  brought  in  answer 
to  Grace's  touch  of  the  bell,  he  gave  one  of  the 
glasses  to  Graham,  and  with  the  other  in  his  left 
hand,  he  said,  "  And  here  I  pledge  you  the  word  of 
a  soldier  that  I  acknowledge  the  claim  in  full,  not 
only  for  Hilland's  sake,  but  your  own.  You  have 
generously  sought  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  a  crotch- 
ety and  irritable  old  man  ;  but  such  as  he  is  he 
gives  you  his  hand  as  a  true,  stanch  friend  ;  and 
Grace  knows  this  means  a  great  deal  with  me." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  cried.  "  I  declare,  papa,  you 
almost  make  me  jealous.  You  treated  Warren  as  if 
you  were  the  Great  Mogul,  and  he  but  a  presuming 
subject.  Mr.  Graham,  if  so  many  new  friends  are 
not  an  embarrassment  of  riches,  will  you  give  me  a 
little  niche  among  them  ?" 

"  I  cannot  give  you  that  which  is  yours  already," 
he  replied  ;  "■  nor  have  I  a  little  niche  for  you.  You 
have  become  identified  with  Hilland,  you  know,  and 
therefore  require  a  large  space." 

"  Now,  see  here,  my  good  friends,  you  are  making 
too  free  with  my  own  peculiar  property.     You  are 


112  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

already  ridi  in  each  other,  not  counting  Mr.  Hilland, 
who,  according  to  Alford,  seems  to  embody  all  hu- 
man excellence.  I  have  only  this  philosophical 
nephew,  and  even  with  him  shall  find  a  rival  in  every 
book  he  can  lay  hands  upon.  I  shall  therefore  carry 
him  off  at  once,  especially  as  he  is  to  be  absent 
several  days." 

The  major  protested  against  his  absence,  and  was 
cordiality  itself  in  his  parting  words. 

Grace  followed  them  out  on  the  moonlit  piazza. 
*' Mr.  Graham,"  she  said,  hesitatingly,  "you  will 
not  be  absent  v^ery  long,  I  trust." 

"  O,  no,"  he  replied  lightly  ;  "  only  two  or  three 
weeks.  In  addition  to  my  affairs  in  the  city,  I  have 
some  business  in  Vermont,  and  while  there  shall  fol- 
low down  some  v/ell-remembercd  trout-streams." 

She  turned  slightly  away,  and  buried  her  face  in  a 
spray  of  roses  from  the  bush  that  festooned  the 
porch.  He  saw  that  a  tinge  color  was  in  her 
cheeks,  as  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  You  should  not 
be  absent  long  ;  I  think  your  friend  v/ill  soon  visit 
us,  and  you  should  be  here  to  welcome  him,"  and 
she  glanced  hastily  toward  him.  Was  it  the  moon- 
light that  made  him  look  so  very  pale  ?  His  eyes 
held  hers.  Mrs.  I\Iayburn  had  walked  slowly  on, 
and  seemingly  he  had  forgotten  her.  The  young 
girl's  eyes  soon  fell  before  his  fixed  gaze,  and  her 
face  grew  troubled.  He  started,  and  said  lightly, 
"I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Grace,  but  you  have 
no  idea  what  a  picture  you  make  with  the  aid  of 
those  roses.  The  human  face  in  clear  moonlight 
reveals  character,  it  is  said,  and  I  again  congratulate 


THE   ORDEAL.  113 

my  friend  without  a  shadow  of  doubt.  Unversed 
as  I  am  in  such  matters,  I  am  quite  satisfied  that 
Hilland  will  need  no  other  welcome  than  yours,  and 
that  he  will  be  wholly  content  with  it  for  some  time 
to  come.  Moreover,  when  I  find  myself  among  the 
trout,  there's  no  telling  when  I  shall  get  out  of  the 
woods." 

"  Is  fishing,  then,  one  of  your  ruling  passions?" 
the  young  girl  asked,  with  an  attempt  to  resume  her 
old  piquant  style  of  talk  with  him. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  laughing,  so  that  his  aunt 
might  hear  him  ;  "  but  when  one's  passions  are  of  so 
mild  a  type  one  may  be  excused  for  having  a  half 
dozen.     Good-by !" 

She  stepped  for^vard  and  held  out  her  hand. 
**You  have  promised  to  be  my  friend,"  she  said 
gently. 

His  hand  trembled  in  her  grasp  as  he  said  quietly 
and  firmly,  "  I  will  keep  my  promise." 

She  looked  after  him  wistfully,  as  she  thought, 
"  I'm  not  sure  about  him.  I  hope  it's  only  a  pass- 
ing disappointment,  for  we  should  not  like  to  think 
that  our  happiness  had  brought  him  wretchedness." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FLIGHT   TO   NATURE. 

GRAHAM  found  his  aunt  waiting  for  him  on 
the  rustic  seat  beneath  the  apple-tree.  Here, 
a  few  hours  before,  his  heart  elate  with  hope,  he 
had  hastened  forward  to  meet  Grace  St.  John. 
Ages  seemed  to  have  passed  since  that  moment  of 
bitter  disappointment,  teaching  him  how  relative  a 
thing  is  time. 

The  old  lady  joined  him  without  a  word,  and 
they  passed  on  silently  to  the  house.  As  they 
entered,  she  said,  trying  to  infuse  into  the  common- 
place words  something  of  her  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion, "  Now  we  will  have  a  cosey  little  supper." 

Graham  placed  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and 
detained  her,  as  he  repHed,  "  No,  aunt ;  please  get 
nothing  for  me.  I  must  hide  myself  for  a  few 
hours  from  even  your  kind  eyes.  Do  not  think  mc 
weak  or  unmanly.  I  shall  soon  get  the  reins  well  in 
hand,  and  shall  then  be  quiet  enough." 

"  I  think  your  self-control  has  been  admirable 
this  evening." 

"  It  was  the  self-control  of  sheer,  desperate  force, 
and  only  partial  at  that.     I  know  I  must  have  been 


FLIGHT  TO  NATURE.  115 

almost  ghostly  in  my  pallor.  I  have  felt  pale, — as  if 
I  were  bleeding  to  death.  I  did  not  mean  to  take 
her  hand  in  parting,  for  I  could  not  trust  myself  ; 
but  she  held  it  out  so  kindly  that  I  had  to  give 
mine,  which,  in  spite  of  my  whole  will-power, 
trembled.  I  troubled  and  perplexed  her.  I  have 
infused  an  element  of  sorrow  and  bitterness  into 
her  happy  love  ;  for  in  the  degree  in  which  it 
gives  her  joy  she  will  fear  that  it  brings  the  heart- 
ache to  me,  and  she  is  too  good  and  kind  not  to 
care.  I  must  go  away  and  not  return  until  my  face 
is  bronzed  and  my  nerves  are  steel.  O  aunt  !  you 
cannot  understand  me  ;  I  scarcely  understand  my- 
self. It  seems  as  if  all  the  love  that  I  might  have 
given  to  many  in  the  past,  had  my  life  been  like  that 
of  others,  had  been  accumulating  for  this  hopeless, 
useless  waste, — this  worse  than  waste,  since  it  only 
wounds  and  pains  its  object." 

"  And  do  I  count  for  so  little,  Alford  ?" 
"  You  count  for  more  now  than  all  others  save 
one  ;  and  if  you  knew  how  contrary  this  utter  un- 
reserve is  to  my  nature  and  habit,  you  would  under- 
stand how  perfect  is  my  confidence  in  you  and  how 
deep  is  my  affection.  But  I  am  learning  with  a  sort 
of  dull,  dreary  astonishment  that  there  are  heights 
and  depths  of  experience  of  which  I  once  had  not 
the  faintest  conception.  This  is  a  kind  of  battle 
that  one  must  fight  out  alone.  I  must  go  away  and 
accustom  myself  to  a  new  condition  of  life.  But 
do  not  worry  about  me.  I  shall  come  back  a  verte- 
brate ;"  and  he  tried  to  summon  a  reassuring  smile, 
as  he  kissed  her  in  parting. 


Il6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

That  night  Graham  faced  his  trouble,  and  decided 
upon  his  future  course. 

After  an  early  breakfast  the  next  morning  the 
young  man  bade  his  aunt  good-by.  With  moist 
eyes,  she  said,  "  Alford,  I  am  losing  you,  just  as  I 
find  how  much  you  are  and  can  be  to  me." 

•"  No,  aunty  dear  ;  my  course  will  prove  best  for 
us  both,"  he  replied,  gently.  "You  would  not  be 
happy  if  you  saw  me  growing  more  sad  and  despair- 
ing every  day  through  inaction,  and — and — well,  I 
could  never  become  strong  and  calm  with  that 
cottage  there  just  beyond  the  trees.  You  have  not 
lost  me,  for  I  shall  try  to  prove  a  good  corre- 
spondent." 

Graham  kept  his  word.  His  "  real  estate  specula- 
tion" did  not  detain  him  long  in  the  city,  for  his 
business  agent  was  better  able  to  manage  such 
interests  than  the  inexperienced  student  ;  and  soon 
a  letter  dated  among  the  mountains  and  the  trout 
streams  of  Vermont  assured  Mrs.  Mayburn  that  he 
had  carried  out  his  intentions.  Not  long  after,  a 
box  with  a  score  of  superb  fish  followed  the  letter, 
and  Major  St.  John's  name  was  pinned  on  some  of 
the  largest  and  finest.  During  the  next  fortnight 
these  trophies  of  his  sport  continued  to  arrive  at 
brief  intervals,  and  they  were  accompanied  by  letters, 
giving  in  almost  journal  form  graphic  descriptions 
of  the  streams  he  had  fished,  their  surrounding 
scenery,  and  the  amusing  peculiarities  of  the  na- 
tives. There  was  not  a  word  that  suggested  the 
cause  that  had  driven  him  so  suddenly  into  the 
wilderness,  but  on  every  page  were  evidences  of  tire- 
less activity. 


FLIGHT  TO   NATURE.  117 

The  major  was  delighted  with  the  trout,  and 
enjoyed  a  high  feast  almost  every  day.  Mrs.  May- 
burn,  imagining  that  she  had  divined  Graham's 
wish,  read  from  his  letters  glowing  extracts  which 
apparently  revealed  an  enthusiastic  sportsman. 

After  his  departure  Grace  had  resumed  her  fre- 
quent visits  to  her  congenial  old  friend,  and  con- 
fidence having  now  been  given  in  respect  to  her 
absent  lover,  the  young  girl  spoke  of  him  out  of  the 
abundance  of  her  heart.  Mrs.  Mayburn  tried  to  be 
all  interest  and  sympathy,  but  Grace  was  puzzled 
by  something  in  her  manner — something  not  absent 
when  she  was  reading  Graham's  letters.  One  after- 
noon she  said  :  "Tell  your  father  that  he  may  soon 
expect  something  extraordinarily  fine,  for  Alford 
has  written  me  of  a  twenty-mile  tramp  through  the 
mountains  to  a  stream  almost  unknown  and  inacces- 
sible." 

"  Won't  you  read  the  description  to  us  this  even- 
ing ?  You  have  no  idea  how  much  pleasure  papa 
takes  in  Mr.  Graham's  letters.  He  says  they  in- 
crease the  gamy  flavor  of  the  fish  he  enjoys  so 
much  ;  and  I  lialf  believe  that  Mr.  Graham  in  this 
indirect  and  delicate  way  is  still  seeking  to  amuse 
my  father,  and  so  compensate  him  for  his  absence, 
Warren  will  soon  be  here,  however,  and  then  we 
can  resume  our  whist  parties.  Do  you  know  that  I 
am  almost  jealous  ?  Papa  talks  more  of  Vermont 
woods  than  of  Western  mines.  You  ought  to  hear 
him  expatiate  upon  the  trout.  He  seems  to  follow 
Mr.  Graham  up  and  down  every  stream  ;  and  he  ex- 
plains to  me  with  the  utmost  minuteness  just  how 


Il8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

the  flies  are  cast  and  just  where  they  were  probably 
thrown  to  snare  the  speckled  beauties.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Graham  puzzles  me.  He  seems  to  be  the  most  in- 
defatigable sportsman  I  ever  heard  of.  But  I  should 
never  have  suspected  it  from  the  quiet  weeks  he 
spent  with  us.  He  seemed  above  all  things  a 
student  of  the  most  quiet  and  intellectual  tastes, 
one  who  could  find  more  pleasure  in  a  library  and 
laboratory  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  world  together. 
Suddenly  he  develops  into  the  most  ardent  disciple 
of  Izaak  Walton.  Indeed,  he  is  too  ardent,  too  full 
of  restless  activity  to  be  a  true  follower  of  the 
gentle,  placid  Izaak.  At  his  present  rate  he  will 
soon  overrun  all  Vermont ;"  and  she  looked  search- 
ingly  at  her  friend. 

A  faint  color  stole  into  the  old  lady's  checks,  but 
she  replied,  quietly,  "  I  have  learned  to  know  Alford 
well  enough  to  love  him  dearly  ;  and  yet  you  must 
remember  that  but  a  few  weeks  ago  he  was  a  com- 
parative stranger  to  me.  He  certainly  is  giving  us 
ample  proof  of  his  sportsmanship,  and  now  that  1 
recall  it,  I  remember  hearing  of  his  fondness  for 
solitary  rambles  in  the  woods  when  a  boy." 

"  His  descriptions  certainly  prove  that  he  is 
familiar  with  them,"  was  the  young  girl's  answer 
to  Mrs.  Mayburn's  words.  Her  inward  comment 
on  the  slight  flush  that  accompanied  them  was, 
"  She  knows.  He  has  told  her  ;  or  she,  less  blind 
than  I,  has  seen."  But  she  felt  that  the  admission 
of  his  love  into  which  Graham  had  been  surprised 
was  not  a  topic  for  her  to  introduce,  although  she 
longed   to   be   assured   that  she  had  not    seriously 


FLIGHT  TO  NATURE.  119 

disturbed  the  peace  of  her  lover's  friend.  A  day  or 
two  later  Hilland  arrived,  and  her  happiness  was  too 
deep,  too,  complete,  to  permit  many  thoughts  of  the 
sportsman  in  the  Vermont  forests.  Nor  did  Hilland's 
brief  but  hearty  expressions  of  regret  at  Graham's 
temporary  absence  impose  upon  her.  She  saw  that 
the  former  was  indeed  more  than  content  with  her 
welcome  ;  that  while  his  friendship  was  a  fixed  star 
of  the  first  magnitude,  it  paled  and  almost  disap- 
peared before  the  brightness  and  fulness  of  her 
presence.  "  Nature,"  indeed,  became  "  radiant" 
to  both  "with  purple  light,  the  morning  and  the 
night,  varied  enchantments." 

Grace  waited  for  Graham  to  give  his  own  confi- 
dence to  his  friend  if  he  chose  to  do  so,  for  she  feared 
that  if  she  spoke  of  it  estrangement  might  ensue. 
The  unsuspecting  major  was  enthusiastic  in  his 
praises  of  the  successful  fisherman,  and  Hilland 
indorsed  with  emphasis  all  he  said.  Graham's  ab- 
sence and  Grace's  reception  had  banished  even  the 
thought  that  he  might  possibly  find  a  rival  in  his 
friend,  and  his  happiness  was  unalloyed. 

One  sultry  summer  evening  in  early  July  Graham 
returned  to  his  aunt's  residence,  and  was  informed 
that  she  was,  as  usual,  at  her  neighbor's.  He  went 
immediately  to  his  room  to  remove  the  dust  and 
stains  of  travel.  On  his  table  still  lay  the  marked  copy 
of  Emerson  that  Grace  had  lent  him,  and  he  smiled 
bitterly  as  he  recalled  his  complacent,  careless  sur- 
mises over  the  underscored  passage,  now  so  well 
understood  and  explained.  Having  finished  his 
toilet,    he   gazed   steadily  at   his  reflection    in   the 


120  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

mirror,  as  a  soldier  might  have  done  to  sec  if  his 
equipment  was  complete.  It  was  evident  he  had 
not  gone  in  vain  to  nature  for  help.  His  face  was 
bronzed,  and  no  telltale  flush  or  pallor  could  now 
be  easily  recognized.  His  expression  was  calm  and 
resolute,  indicating  nerves  braced  and  firm.  Then  he 
turned  away  with  the  look  of  a  man  going  into 
battle,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitancy  he  sought 
the  ordeal.  The  windows  and  doors  of  Major  St. 
John's  cottage  were  open,  and  as  he  mounted  the 
piazza  the  group  around  the  whist  tabic  was  in  full 
view, — the  major  contracting  his  bushy  eyebrows 
over  his  hand  as  if  not  altogether  s^,tisfied,  Mrs. 
Mayburn  looking  at  hers  with  an  interest  so  faint  as 
to  suggest  that  her  thoughts  were  wandering,  and 
Hilland  with  his  laughing  blue  eyes  glancing  often 
from  his  cards  to  the  fair  face  of  his  partner,  as  if  he 
saw  there  a  story  that  would  deepen  in  its  enthralling 
interest  through  life.  There  was  no  shadow,  no 
doubt  on  his  wide,  white  brow.  It  was  the  genial, 
frank,  merry  face  of  the  boy  who  had  thawed  the 
reserve  and  banished  the  gathering  gloom  of  a 
solitary  youth  at  college,  only  now  it  was  marked 
by  the  stronger  lines  of  early  manhood.  His  fine, 
short  upper  lip  was  clean  shaven,  and  its  tremu- 
lous curves  indicated  a  nature  quick,  sensitive, 
and  ready  to  respond  to  every  passing  influence, 
while  a  full  tawny  beard  and  broad  shoulders  ban- 
ished all  suggestion  of  effeminacy.  He  appeared  to 
be,  what  in  truth  he  was,  an  unspoiled  favorite  of 
fortune,  now  supremely  happy  in  her  best  and 
latest  gift.     "  If  I  could  but  have  known  the  truth 


FLIGHT   TO   NATURE.  12i 

at  first,"  sighed  Graham,  "  I  would  not  have  h'n- 
gcred  here  until  my  very  soul  was  enslaved  ;  for  he 
is  the  man  above  all  others  to  win  and  hold  a 
woman's  heart." 

That  he  held  the  heart  of  the  fair  girl  opposite  him 
was  revealed  by  every  glance,  and  Graham's  heart 
ached  with  a  pain  hard  to  endure,  as  he  watched  for  a 
moment  the  exquisite  outlines  of  her  face,  her  wide, 
low  brow  with  its  halo  of  light  breezy  hair  that  was 
in  such  marked  contrast  with  the  dark  lustrous 
eyes,  now  veiled  by  long  silken  lashes  as  she  looked 
downward  intent  on  the  game,  now  beaming  with 
the  very  spirit  of  mirth  and  mischief  as  she  looked 
at  her  opponents,  and  again  softening  in  obedience 
to  the  controlling  law  of  her  life  as  she  glanced  half 
shyly  from  time  to  time  at  the  great  bearded  man 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"  Was  not  the  v/orld  wide  enough  for  me  to 
escape  seeing  that  face?"  he  groaned.  "A  few 
months  since  I  was  content  with  my  life  and  lot. 
Why  did  I  come  thousands  of  miles  to  meet  such 
a  fate  ?  I  feared  I  should  have  to  face  poverty  and 
privation  for  a  time.  Now  they  are  my  lot  for  life, 
an  impoverishment  that  wealth  would  only  enhance. 
I  cannot  stay  here,  I  will  not  remain  a  day  longer 
than  is  essential  to  make  the  impression  I  wish  to 
leave  ;"  and  with  a  firm  step  he  crossed  the  piazza, 
rapped  lightly  in  announcement  of  his  presence,  and 
entered  without  ceremony. 

Hilland  sprang  forward  joyously  to  meet  him,  and 
gave  him  just  such  a  greeting  as  accorded  with  his 
ardent  spirit.      "  Why,   Graham  !"  he  cried,  with  a 


122  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

crushing  grasp,  and  resting  a  hand  on  his  shoulder 
at  the  same  time,  "you  come  unexpectedly,  like 
all  the  best  things  in  the  world.  We  looked  for  a 
letter  that  would  give  us  a  chance  to  celebrate  your 
arrival  as  that  of  the  greatest  fisherman  of  the 
age. ' ' 

"  Having  taken  so  many  unwary  trout,  it  was 
quite  in  keeping  to  take  us  unawares,"  said  Grace, 
piessing  forward  with  outstretched  hand,  for  she 
had  determined  to  show  in  the  most  emphatic  way 
that  Hilland's  friend  was  also  hers. 

Graham  took  the  proffered  hand  and  held  it,  while, 
with  a  humorous  glance  at  his  friend,  he  said,  "  See 
here,  Hilland,  I  hold  an  indisputable  proof  that  it's 
time  you  appeared  on  the  confines  of  civilization 
and  gave  an  account  of  yourself." 

"  I  own  up,  old  fellow.  You  have  me  on  the  hip. 
I  have  kept  one  secret  from  you.  If  we  had  been 
together  the  thing  would  have  come  out,  but  some- 
how I  couldn't  write,  even  to  you,  until  I  knew  my 
fate. ' ' 

"  Mr.  Graham,"  broke  in  the  major,  "  if  we  were 
in  the  service,  I  should  place  you  in  charge  of  the 
commissary  department,  and  give  you  a  roving  com- 
mission. I  have  lived  like  a  lord  for  the  past  two 
weeks  ;"  and  he  shook  Graham's  hand  so  cordially  as 
to  prove  his  heart  had  sympathized  with  an  adjacent 
organ  that  had  been  highly  gratified. 

"  I  have  missed  you,  Alford,"  was  his  aunt's 
quiet  greeting,  and  she  kissed  him  as  if  he  were  her 
son,  causing  a  sudden  pang  as  he  remembered  how 
soon  he  would  bid  her  farewell  again. 


FLIGHT  TO  NATURE. 


123 


"  Why,  Graham,  how  you  have  improved  !  You 
have  gained  a  splendid  color  in  the  woods.  The 
only  trouble  is  that  you  are  as  attenuated  as  some 
of  the  theories  we  used  to  discuss. ' ' 

"  And  you,  giddy  boy,  begin  to  look  quite  like  a 
man.  Miss  Grace,  you  will  never  know  how  greatly 
you  are  indebted  to  me  for  my  restraining  influence. 
There  never  was  a  fellow  who  needed  to  be  sat 
down  upon  so  often  as  Hilland.  I  have  curbed  and 
pruned  him  ;  indeed,  I  have  almost  brought  him 
up." 

"  He  docs  you  credit,"  was  her  reply,  spoken 
with  mirthful  impressiveness,  and  with  a  very  con- 
tented glance  at  the  laughing  subject  of  discussion. 

"  Yes,  Graham,"  he  remarked,  "  you  were  a  trifle 
heavy  at  times,  and  were  better  at  bringing  a  fellow 
down  than  up.  It  took  all  the  leverage  of  my  jolly 
good  nature  to  bring  you  up  occasionally.  But  I  am 
glad  to  see  and  hear  that  you  have  changed  so 
happily.  Grace  and  the  major  say  you  have  become 
the  best  of  company,  taking  a  human  interest  in 
other  questions  than  those  which  keep  the  scientists 
by  the  ears." 

"That  is  because  I  have  broken  my  shell  and 
come  out  into  the  world.  One  soon  discovers  that 
there  are  other  questions,  and  some  of  them  conun- 
drums that  the  scientists  may  as  well  give  up  at  the 
start.  I  say,  Hilland,  how  young  we  were  over 
there  in  Germany  when  we  thought  ourselves  grow- 
ing hourly  into  savans  /" 

"  Indeed  we  were,  and  as  sublimely  complacent  as 
we  were  young.     Would  you  believe  it,  Mrs.  May- 


124  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

burn,  your  nephew  and  I  at  one  time  thought  we 
were  on  the  trail  of  some  of  the  most  elusive  secrets 
of  the  universe,  and  that  we  should  soon  drag  them 
from  cover.  I  have  learned  since  that  this  little 
girl  could  teach  me  more  than  all  the  universities." 

Graham  shot  a  swift  glance  at  his  aunt,  which 
Grace  thought  she  detected  ;  but  he  turned  to  the 
latter,  and  said  genially,  "  I  congratulate  you  on 
excelling  all  the  German  doctors.  I  know  he's  right, 
and  he'll  remember  the  lore  obtained  from  you  long 
after  he  has  forgotten  the  deep,  guttural  abstrac- 
tions that  droned  on  his  ears  abroad.  It  will  do 
him  more  good,  too." 

"  I  fear  I  am  becoming  a  subject  of  irony  to  you 
both,"  said  Grace. 

"They  are  both  becoming  too  deep  for  us,  are 
they  not,  Mrs.  Mayburn  ?"  put  in  the  major. 
"You  obtained  your  best  knowledge,  Mr.  Graham, 
when  you  tramped  the  woods  as  a  boy,  and  though 
you  gathered  so  much  of  it  by  hook  it's  like  the  fish 
you  killed,  rare  to  find.  If  we  were  in  the  service 
and  I  had  the  power,  I'd  have  you  brevetted  at  once, 
and  get  some  fellow  knocked  on  the  head  to  make 
a  vacancy.  You  have  been  contributing  royally  to 
our  mess,  and  now  you  must  take  a  soldier's  luck 
with  us  to-night.  Grace,  couldn't  you  improvise 
a  nice  little  supper?" 

"  Please  do  not  let  me  cause  any  such  trouble 
this  hot  evening,"  Graham  began;  "I  dined  late 
in  town,  and — " 

"No  insubordination,"  interrupted  Grace,  rising 
with  alacrity.      "  Certainly  I  can,  papa,"  and  as  she 


FLIGHT   TO   NATURE.  125 

paused  near  Graham,  she  murmured,  "  Don't  object  ; 
it  will  please  papa." 

She  showed  what  a  provident  housekeeper  she 
was,  for  they  all  soon  sat  down  to  an  inviting- 
repast,  of  which  fruit  was  the  staple  article,  with 
cake  so  light  and  delicate  that  it  would  never  dis- 
turb a  man's  conscience  after  he  retired.  Then  with 
genial  words  and  smiles  that  masked  all  heartache, 
Graham  and  his  aunt  said  good-night  and  departed, 
Hilland  accompanying  his  friend,  that  he  might  pour 
out  the  long-delayed  confidence.  Graham  shivered 
as  he  thought  of  the  ordeal,  as  a  man  might  tremble 
who  was  on  his  way  to  the  torture  chamber,  but 
outwardly  he  was  quietly  cordial. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   FRIENDS. 

AFTER  accompanying^  Mrs.  Mayburn  to  her  cot- 
tage door,  the  friends  strolled  away  together, 
the  sultry  evening  rendering  them  reluctant  to  enter 
the  house.  When  they  reached  the  rustic  seat  under 
the  apple-tree,  Hilland  remarked,  "  Here's  a  good 
place  for  our — " 

"  Not  here,"  interrupted  Graham,  in  a  tone 
that  was  almost  sharp  in  its  tension. 

"Why  not?"  asked  his  friend,  in  the  accent  of 
surprise. 

"  O,  well,"  was  the  confused  answer,  "some 
one  may  be  passing, — servants  may  be  out  in  the 
grounds.      Suppose  we  walk  slowly." 

"  Graham,  you  seem  possessed  by  the  very  demon 
of  restlessness.  The  idea  of  walking  this  hot 
night  !" 

"  O,  well,  it  doesn't  matter,"  Graham  replied, 
carelessly,  although  his  face  was  rigid  with  the 
effort  ;  and  he  threw  himself  down  on  the  rustic 
seat.  "  We  are  not  conspirators  that  we  need  steal 
away  in  the  darkness.  Why  should  I  not  be  rest- 
less after  sitting  in  the  hot  cars  all  day,  and  with 
the  habit  of  tramping  fresh  upon  me?" 


THE  FRIENDS.  127 

"  What  evil  spirit  drove  you  into  the  wilderness, 
and  made  you  the  champion  tramp  of  the  country? 
It  seems  to  me  you  must  have  some  remarkable 
confidences  also." 

"  No  evil  spirit,  I  assure  you  ;  far  from  it.  My 
tramp  has  done  me  good  ;  indeed,  I  never  derived 
more  benefit  from  an  outing  in  the  woods  in  my 
life.  You  will  remember  that  when  we  were  boys 
at  college  no  fellow  took  longer  walks  than  I.  I 
am  simply  returning  to  the  impulses  of  my  youth. 
The  fact  is,  I've  been  living  too  idly,  and  of  course 
there  would  be  a  reaction  in  one  of  my  temperament 
and  habits.  The  vital  for(:e  which  had  been  ac- 
cumulating under  my  aunt's  high  feeding  and  the 
inspiration  resulting  from  the  society  of  two  such 
charming  people  as  Major  and  Miss  St.  John,  had 
to  be  expended  in  some  way.  Somehow,  I've  lost 
much  of  my  old  faith  in  books  and  laboratories. 
I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  seeing 
you  again  has  given  a  strong  impulse  to  a  forming 
purpose.  I  felt  a  sincere  commiseration  when  you 
gave  up  your  life  of  a  student.  I  was  a  fool  to  do 
so.  I  have  studied  your  face  and  manner  this 
evening,  and  can  sec  that  you  have  developed  more 
manhood  out  in  those  Western  mines,  in  your  con- 
tact with  men  and  things  and  the  large  material 
interests  of  the  world,  than  you  could  have  acquired 
by  delving  a  thousand  years  among  dusty  tomes. " 

"  That  little  girl  over  there  has  done  more  for  me 
than  Western  mines  and  material  interests." 

"That  goes  without  saying;  and  yet  she  could 
have  done  little  for  you,  had  you  been  a  dawdler. 


128  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Indeed,  in  that  case  she  would  have  had  nothing  to 
do  with  you.  She  recognized  that  you  were  Hke 
the  gold  you  are  mining, — worth  taking  and  fashion- 
ing ;  and  I  tell  you  she  is  not  a  girl  to  be  imposed 
upon." 

"  Flatterer." 

"  No  ;  friend." 

"  You  admire  Grace  very  much." 

"  I  do  indeed,  and  I  respect  her  still  more.  You 
know  I  never  was  a  lady's  man  ;  indeed,  the  society 
of  most  young  women  was  a  weariness  to  me. 
Don't  imagine  I  am  asserting  any  superiority.  You 
enjoyed  their  conversation,  and  you  are  as  clever  as 
I  am." 

"I  understand,"  said  Hilland,  laughing;  "you 
had  nothing  in  common.  You  talked  to  a  girl  as  if 
she  were  a  mile  ofT,  and  often  broached  topics  that 
were  cycles  away.  Now,  a  girl  likes  a  fellow  to 
come  reasonably  close — metaphorically,  if  not  act- 
ually— when  he  chats  with  her.  Moreover,  many 
that  you  met,  if  they  had  brains,  had  never  culti- 
vated them.  They  were  as  shallov/  as  a  duck-pond, 
and  with  their  small  deceits,  subterfuges,  and  affecta- 
tions, were  about  as  transparent.  Some  might  imagine 
them  deep.  They  puzzled  and  nonplussed  you,  and 
you  slunk  away.  Now  I,  while  rating  them  at  their 
worth,  was  able  from  previous  associations  to  talk 
a  little  congenial  nonsense,  and  pass  on.  They 
amused  me,  too.  You  know  I  have  a  sort  of 
laughing  philosophy,  and  everything  and  everybody 
amuses  me.  The  fellows  would  call  these  creatures 
angels,    and  they   would    flap  their  little  butterfly 


THE  FRIENDS.  129 

wings  as  if  they  thought  they  were.     How  happened 
it  that  you  so  soon  were  e7i  rapport  with  Grace  ?" 

"  Ah,  wily  wretch  !"  Graham  laughed  gayly, 
while  the  night  hid  his  lowering  brows  ;  "  praise  of 
your  mistress  is  sweeter  than  flattery  to  yourself. 
Why,  simply  because  she  is  Grace  St.  John.  I 
imagine  that  it  is  her  army  life  that  has  so  blended 
unconventionality  with  perfect  good  breeding.  She 
is  her  bluff,  honest,  high-spirited  old  father  over 
again,  only  idealized,  refined,  and  womanly.  Then 
she  must  have  inherited  some  rare  qualities  from 
her  Southern  mother :  you  see  my  aunt  has  told  me 
all  about  them.  I  once  met  a  Southern  lady  abroad, 
and  although  she  was  middle-aged  she  fascinated 
me  more  than  any  girl  I  had  ever  met.  In  the  first 
place,  there  was  an  indescribable  accent  that  I  never 
heard  in  Europe, — slight,  indeed,  but  very  pleasing 
to  the  ear.  I  sometimes  detect  traces  of  it  in  Miss 
St.  John's  speech.  Then  this  lady  had  a  frankness 
and  sincerity  of  manner  which  put  you  at  your  ease 
at  once  ;  and  yet  with  it  all  there  was  a  fine  reserve. 
You  no  more  feared  that  she  would  blurt  out  some- 
thing unsanctioned  by  good  taste  than  that  she 
would  dance  a  hornpipe.  She  was  singularly  gentle 
and  retiring  in  her  manner  ;  and  yet  one  instinctively 
felt  he  would  rather  insult  a  Southern  fire-eater  than 
offend  her.  She  gave  the  impression  that  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  a  chivalric  deference  from  men, 
rather  than  mere  society  attentions  ;  and  one  un- 
consciously infused  a  subtle  homage  in  his  very 
accent  when  speaking  to  her.  Now,  I  imagine  that 
Miss  St.  John's  mother  must  have  been  closely  akin 


I30  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

to  this  woman  in  character.  You  know  my  weak- 
ness for  analyzing  everything.  You  used  to  say  I 
couldn't  smoke  a  cigar  without  going  into  the  phi- 
losophy of  it.  I  had  not  spent  one  evening  in  the 
society  of  Miss  St.  John  before  I  saw  that  she  was  a 
rara  avis.  Then  her  devotion  to  her  invalid  father 
is  superb.  She  enlisted  me  in  his  service  the  first 
day  of  my  arrival.  Although  old,  crippled,  often 
racked  with  pain,  and  afflicted  with  a  temper  which 
arbitrary  command  has  not  improved,  she  beguiles 
him  out  of  himself,  smiles  away  his  gloom,  —  in 
brief,  creates  so  genial  an  atmosphere  about  him 
that  ever}'  breath  is  balm,  and  does  it  all,  too,  with- 
out apparent  effort.  You  see  no  machinery  at  work. 
Now,  this  was  all  a  new  and  very  interesting  study 
of  life  to  me,  and  I  studied  it.  There,  too,  is  my 
aunt,  who  is  quite  as  interesting  in  her  way.  Such 
women  make  general  or  wholesale  cynicism  impos- 
sible, or  else  hypocritical  ;"  and  he  was  about  to 
launch  out  into  as  extended  an  analysis  of  the  old 
lady's  peculiarities,  when  Hilland  interrupted  him 
with  a  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  a  ringing  laugh. 

"  Graham,  you  haven't  changed  a  mite.  You 
discourse  just  as  of  old,  when  in  our  den  at  the 
university  we  befogged  ourselves  in  tobacco-smoke 
and  the  denser  obscurities  of  German  metaphysics, 
only  your  theme  is  infinitely  more  interesting. 
Now,  when  I  met  my  paragon,  Grace,  whom  you 
have  limned  with  the  feeling  of  an  artist  rather  than 
of  an  analyst,  although  Vv^ith  a  blending  of  both,  I 
fell  in  love  with  her." 

"Yes,  Hilland,  it's  just  like  you  to  fall  in  love. 


THE  FRIEXDS.  131 

My  fear  has  ever  been  that  you  would  fall  in  lov^e 
with  a  face  some  day,  and  not  with  a  woman.  But 
now  I  congratulate  you  frorn  the  depths  of  my 
soul." 

"  How  comes  it  that  you  did  not  fall  in  love  with 
one  whom  you  admire  so  much  ?  You  were  not 
aware  of  my  suit." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  not  according  to  my  nature  to 
'  fall  in  love,'  as  you  term  it.  The  very  phrase  is 
repugnant  to  me.  When  a  man  is  falling  in  any 
sense  of  the  word,  his  reason  is  rather  apt  to  be 
muddled  and  confused,  and  he  cannot  be  very  sure 
where  he  will  land.  If  you  had  not  appeared  on 
the  scene  my  reason  would  have  approved  of  my 
marriage  with  Miss  St.  John, — that  is,  if  I  had  seen 
the  slightest  chance  of  acceptance,  which,  of  course, 
I  never  have.  I  should  be  an  egregious  fool  were 
it  otherwise." 

"  How  about  your  heart  ?" 

"  The  heart  often  leads  to  the  sheerest  folly,"  was 
the  sharp  rejoinder. 

Hilland  laughed  in  his  good-humored  way.  His 
friend's  reply  seemed  the  result  of  irritation  at  the 
thought  that  the  heart  should  have  much  to  say 
when  reason  demurred.  "  Well,  Graham,"  he  said, 
kindly  and  earnestly,  "  if  I  did  not  know  you  so 
well,  I  should  say  you  were  the  most  cold-blooded, 
frog-like  fellow  in  existence.  You  certainly  are  an 
enigma  to  me  on  the  woman-question.  I  must 
admit  that  my  heart  went  headlong  from  the  first ; 
but  when  at  last  reason  caught  up,  and  had  time 
to  get  her  breath  and  look  the  case  over,  she  said 


132  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

it  was  '  all  right,' — far  better  than  she  had  expected. 
To  one  of  my  temperament,  however,  it  seems  very 
droll  that  reason  should  lead  the  way  to  love,  and 
the  heart  come  limping  after." 

"  Many  a  one  has  taken  the  amatory  tumble  who 
would  be  glad  to  reason  his  way  up  and  back. 
But  we  need  not  discuss  this  matter  in  the  abstract, 
for  we  have  too  much  that  is  personal  to  say  to  each 
other.  You  are  safe  ;  your  wonted  good  fortune  has 
served  you  better  than  ever.  All  the  v.isdom  of  Solo- 
mon could  not  have  enabled  you  to  fall  in  love  niore 
judiciously.  Indeed,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it, 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  according  to  history,  was 
rather  at  fault  in  these  matters.  Tell  me  how  it  all 
came  about"  (for  he  knew  the  story  must  come)  ; 
"  only  outline  the  tale  to-night.  I've  been  speculat- 
ing and  analyzing  so  long  that  it  is  late  ;  and  the 
major,  hearing  voices  in  the  grounds,  may  bring 
some  of  his  old  army  ordnance  to  bear  on  us." 

But  Hilland,  out  of  the  abundance  of  his  heart, 
found  much  to  say  ;  and  his  friend  sat  cold,  shivering 
in  the  sultry  night,  his  heart  growing  more  despair- 
ing as  he  saw  the  heaven  of  successful  wooing  that 
he  could  never  enter.  At  last  Hilland  closed  with 
the  words,  "  I  say,  Graham,  are  you  asleep  .?" 

"  O  no,"  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  You  are  taking  cold." 

"  I  believe  I  am." 

"  I'm  a  brute  to  keep  you  up  in  this  style.  As  I 
live,  I  believe  there  is  the  tinge  of  dawn  in  the 
east." 

"  May  every  dawn   bring  a  happy   day  to  you. 


THE  FRIENDS.  133 

Warren,"  was  said  so  gently  and  earnestly  that 
Hilland  rested  his  arm  on  his  friend's  shoulder  as  he 
replied,  "  You've  a  queer  heart,  Alford,  but  such 
as  it  is  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  that  of  any  man 
living."  Then  abruptly,  "  Do  you  hold  to  our  old 
views  that  this  life  ends  all  ?" 

A  thrill  of  something  like  exultation  shot  through 
Graham's  frame,  as  he  replied,  "  Certainly." 

Hilland  sprang  up  and  paced  the  walk  a  moment, 
then  said,  "Well,  I  don't  know.  A  woman  like 
Grace  St.  John  shakes  my  faith  in  our  old  belief. 
It  seems  profanation  to  assert  that  she  is  mere 
clay." 

The  lurid  gleam  of  light  whicli  the  thought  of 
ceasing  to  exist  and  to  suffer  had  brought  to 
Graham  faded.  It  did  seem  like  profanation.  At 
any  rate,  at  that  moment  it  was  a  hideous  truth 
that  such  a  creature  might  by  the  chance  of  any 
accident  resolve  into  mere  dust.  And  yet  it  seemed 
a  truth  which  must  apply  to  her  as  well  as  to  the 
grossest  of  her  sisterhood.  He  could  only  falter, 
"  She  is  very  highly  organized." 

They  both  felt  that  it  was  a  lame  and  impotent 
conclusion. 

But  the  spring  of  happiness  was  in  Hilland's 
heart.  The  present  was  too  rich  for  him  to  permit 
such  dreary  speculations,  and  he  remarked  cordially 
and  laughingly,  "  Well,  Graham,  we  have  made 
amends  for  our  long  separation  and  silence.  We 
have  talked  all  the  summer  night.  I  am  rich,  in- 
deed, in  such  a  friend  and  such  a  sweetheart  ;  and 
the  latter  must  truly  approach  perfection  when  my 


134  Ills  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

dear  old  philosopher  of  the  stoic  school  could  think 
it  safe  and  wise  to  marry  her,  were  all  the  conditions 
favorable.  You  don't  wish  that  I  was  at  the  bottom 
of  one  of  my  mines,  do  you,  Alford  ?" 

Graham  felt  that  the  interview  must  end  at  once, 
so  he  rose  and  said,  "  No,  I  do  not.  My  reason 
approves  of  your  choice.  If  you  wish  more,  my 
'  queer  heart,  such  as  it  is,'  approves  of  it  also.  If 
I  had  the  power  to  change  everything  this  moment 
I  would  not  do  so.  You  have  fairly  won  your  love, 
and  may  all  the  forces  of  nature  conspire  to  prosper 
you  both.  But  come,"  he  added  in  a  lighter  vein, 
"  Miss  St.  John  may  be  watching  and  waiting  for 
your  return,  and  even  imagining  that  I,  with  my 
purely  intellectual  bent,  may  regard  you  as  a  dis- 
turbing element  in  the  problem,  and  so  be  led  to 
eliminate  you  in  a  quiet,  scientific  manner." 

"Well,  then,  good-night,  or  morning,  rather. 
Forgive  a  lover's  garrulousness. " 

"  I  was  more  garrulous  than  you,  without  half 
your  excuse.  No,  I'll  see  you  safely  home.  I  wish 
to  walk  a  little  to  get  up  a  circulation.  With  your 
divine  flame  burning  so  brightly,  I  suppose  you  could 
sit  through  a  zero  night  ;  but  you  must  remember 
that  such  a  modicum  of  philosophy  as  I  possess  will 
not  keep  me  warm.  There,  good-by,  old  fellow. 
Sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just,  and  what  is  better  in  this 
chance  medley  world,  of  the  happy.  Don't  be 
imagining  that  you  have  any  occasion  to  worry 
about  me." 

Hilland  went  to  his  room  in  a  complacent  mood, 
and  more  in  love  than  ever.    Had  not  his  keen-eyed. 


THE  FRIEXDS.  135 

analytical  friend,  after  weeks  of  careful  observation, 
testified  to  the  exceeding  worth  of  the  girl  of  his 
heart?  He  had  been  in  love,  and  he  had  ever  heard 
that  love  is  blind.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  friend 
could  never  love  as  he  understood  the  word  ;  and 
yet  the  peerless  maiden  had  so  satisfied  the  exac- 
tions of  Graham's  taste  and  reason,  and  had  proved 
herself  so  generally  admirable,  that  he  felt  it  would 
be  wise  and  advantageous  to  marry  her. 

"  It's  a  queer  way  of  looking  at  these  things,"  he 
concluded  with  a  shrug,  "but  then  it  is  Graham's 
way." 

Soon  he  was  smiling  in  his  repose,  for  the  great 
joy  of  his  waking  hours  threw  its  light  far  down 
into  the  obscurity  of  sleep. 

Graham  turned  slowly  away,  and  walked  with 
downcast  face  to  the  rustic  seat.  He  stood  by  it  a 
moment,  and  then  sank  into  it  like  a  man  who  has 
reached  the  final  limit  of  human  endurance.  He 
uttered  no  sound,  but  at  brief  intervals  a  shiver 
ran  through  his  frame.  His  head  sank  into 
his  hands,  and  he  looked  and  felt  like  one  utterly 
crushed  by  a  fate  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
His  ever-recurring  thought  was,  "  I  have  but  one 
life,  and  it's  lost,  worse  than  lost.  Why  should  I 
stagger  on  beneath  the  burden  of  an  intolerable 
existence,  which  will  only  grow  heavier  as  the  forces 
of  Hfefail?" 

At  last  in  his  agony  he  uttered  the  words  aloud. 
A  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  husky, 
broken  voice  said,  "  Here  is  one  reason." 

He  started  up,  and  saw  that  his  aunt  stood  beside 
him. 


136  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

The  dawn  was  gray,  but  the  face  of  the  aged 
woman  was  grayer  and  more  pallid.  She  did  not  en- 
treat,— her  feeling  seemed  too  deep  for  words, — but 
with  clasped  hands  she  lifted  her  tear-dimmed  eyes 
to  his.  Her  withered  bosom  rose  and  fell  in  short, 
convulsive  sobs,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand. 

His  eyes  sank,  and  a  sudden  sense  of  guilt  and 
shame  at  his  forgetfulness  of  her  overcame  him. 
Then  yielding  to  an  impulse,  all  the  stronger  because 
mastering  one  who  had  few  impulses,  he  took 
her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  repeatedly,  and  sup- 
ported her  tenderly  to  the  cottage.  When  at  last 
they  reached  the  quaint  little  parlor  he  placed  her 
tenderly  in  her  chair,  and,  taking  her  hand,  he  kissed 
it,  and  said  solemnly,  "  No,  aunty,  I  will  not  die. 
I  will  live  out  my  days  for  your  sake,  and  do  my 
best." 

"  Thank  God  !"  she  murmured, — "  thank  God  1" 
and  for  a  moment  she  leaned  her  head  upon  his 
breast  as  he  knelt  beside  her.  Suddenly  she  lifted 
herself,  with  a  return  of  her  old  energy  ;  and  he 
rose  and  stood  beside  her.  She  looked  at  him 
intently  as  if  she  would  read  his  thoughts,  and  then 
shook  her  finger  impressively  as  she  said,  "  Mark 
my  words,  Alford,  mark  my  words  :  good  will  come 
of  that  promise." 

"  It  has  come  already,"  he  gently  replied,  "  in  that 
you,  my  best  friend,  are  comforted.  Now  go  and  rest 
and  sleep.  Have  no  fear,  for  your  touch  of  love 
has  broken  all  evil  spells." 

Graham  went  to  his  room,  calmed  by  an  inflexible 


THE  FRIENDS.  i^^'j 

resolution.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  happi- 
ness or  unhappiness,  or  even  of  despair  ;  it  was 
simply  a  question  of  honor,  of  keeping  his  word. 
He  sat  down  and  read  once  more  the  paragraph  in 
the  marked  copy  of  Emerson,  **  No  man  ever 
forgot—"  He  gave  the  words  a  long,  wistful  look, 
and  then  closed  the  volume  as  if  he  were  closing  a 
chapter  of  his  life. 

"Well,"  he  sighed,  "I  did  my  best  last  night 
not  to  dispel  their  enchantment,  for  of  course 
Hilland  will  tell  her  of  the  substance  of  our  talk. 
Now,  it  must  be  my  task  for  a  brief  time  to  main- 
tain and  deepen  the  impression  that  I  have  made." 

Having  no  desire  for  sleep,  he  softly  paced  his 
room,  but  it  was  not  in  nervous  excitement.  His 
pulse  was  quiet  and  regular,  and  his  mind  reverted 
easily  to  a  plan  of  extended  travel  upon  which  he 
had  been  dwelling  while  in  the  woods.  At  last  he 
threw  himself  upon  his  couch,  and  slept  for  an  hour 
or  two.  On  awaking  he  found  that  it  was  past  the 
usual  breakfast  hour,  and  after  a  hasty  toilet  he 
went  in  search  of  his  aunt,  but  was  informed  that 
she  was  still  sleeping. 

^^  "Do  not  disturb  her,"   he  said  to  the  servant. 
"  Let  her  sleep  as  long  as  she  will." 

He  then  wrote  a  note,  saying  that  he  had  decided 
to  go  to  town  to  attend  to  some  business  which  had 
been  neglected  in  his  absence,  and  was  soon  on  his 
way  to  the  traifi. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

NOBLE     DECEPTION. 

IN  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Hilland  called  on 
his  friend,  and  was  informed  that  Graham  had 
gone  to  the  city  on  business,  but  would  return  in 
the  evening.  He  also  learned  that  Mrs.  Mayburn 
was  indisposed,  and  had  not  yet  risen.  At  these 
tidings  Grace  ran  over  to  see  her  old  friend,  hoping 
to  do  something  for  her  comfort,  and  the  young  girl 
was  almost  shocked  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Mayburn 's 
pinched  and  pallid  face  upon  her  pillow.  She 
seemed  to  have  aged  in  a  night. 

"You  are  seriously  ill  !"  she  exclaimed,  "and 
you  did  not  let  me  know.  Mr.  Graham  should  not 
have  left  you." 

"  He  did  not  know,"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply, 
for  the  slightest  imputation  against  Graham  touched 
her  keenly.  "  He  is  kindness  itself  to  me.  He 
only  heard  this  morning  that  I  was  sleeping,  and  he 
left  word  that  I  should  not  be  disturbed.  He  also 
wrote  a  note  explaining  the  business  which  had  been 
neglected  in  his  absence.  O,  I  assure  you,  no 
one  could  be  more  considerate." 

"  Dear,  loyal   Mrs.   Mayburn,  you  won't  hear  a 


NOBLE  DECEPTION.  139 

word  against  those  you  love.  I  think  Mr.  Graham 
wonderfully  considerate  for  a  man.  You  know  we 
should  not  expect  much  of  men.  I  have  to  manage 
two,  and  it  keeps  me  busy,  but  never  so  busy  that  I 
cannot  do  all  in  my  power  for  my  dear  old  friend, 
ni  get  your  breakfast  myself,  and  bring  it  to  you 
with  my  own  hands,  and  force  it  upon  you  with  the 
inexorable  firmness  of  Sairy  Gamp  ;"  and  she 
vanished  to  the  kitchen. 

The  old  lady  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
moaned,  "  Oh,  if  it  could  only  have  been  !  Why 
is  it  that  we  so  often  set  our  hearts  on  that  which  is 
denied  ?  After  a  long,  dull  sleep  of  years  it  seemed 
as  if  my  heart  had  wakened  in  my  old  age  only  to 
find  how  poor  and  lonely  I  am.  Alford  cannot  stay 
with  me, — I  could  not  expect  it, — neither  can  Grace  ; 
and  so  I  must  go  on  alone  to  the  end.  I'm  pun- 
ished, punished  that  years  ago  I  did  not  make  some 
one  love  me  ;  but  I  was  self-sufficient  then." 

Her  regret  was  deepened  when  Grace  returned 
with  a  dainty  breakfast,  and  waited  on  her  with  a 
daughter's  gentleness  and  tenderness,  making  her 
smile  in  spite  of  herself  at  her  funny  speeches,  and 
beguiling  her  into  enjoyment  of  the  present  moment 
with  a  witchery  that  none  could  resist. 

Presently  Mrs.  Mayburn  sighed,  "  It's  a  fearfully 
hot  day  for  Alford  to  be  in  town." 

"  For  a  student,"  cried  Grace,  "he  is  the  most 
indefatigable  man  I  ever  heard  of.  Warren  told  me 
that  they  sat  out  there  under  the  apple-tree  and 
poured  out  their  hearts  till  dawn.  Talk  about 
school  girls  babbling  all  night.     My  comment  on 


I40  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Warren's  folly  was  a  dose  of  quinine.  It's  astonish- 
ing how  these  savants,  these  intellectual  giants,  need 
taking  care  of  like  babies.  Woman's  mission  will 
never  cease  as  long  as  there  are  learned  men  in  the 
world.  They  will  sit  in  a  draught  and  discuss  some 
obscure  law  concerning  the  moons  of  Jupiter  ;  but 
when  the  law  resulting  in  influenza  manifests  itself, 
then  they  learn  our  worth." 

"  O,  dear  !"  groaned  Mrs.  Mayburn,  "I  didn't 
give  Alford  any  quinine.  You  were  more  provident 
than  I." 

"  How  could  you,  when  you  were  asleep  ?" 

"Ah,  true!"  was  the  confused  reply.  "But 
then  I  should  have  been  awake.  I  should  have 
remembered  that  he  did  not  come  in  when  I  did  last 
night." 

The  faint  color  that  stole  into  the  face  that  had 
been  so  pale  gave  some  surprise  to  the  young  girl. 
When  once  her  mind  was  directed  to  a  subject  her 
intuitions  were  exceedingly  keen. 

From  the  time  the  secret  of  his  regard  for  her  had 
been  surprised  from  him,  Graham  had  been  a  puzzle 
to  her.  Was  he  the  cool,  philosophical  lover  that  he 
would  have  her  think  ?  Hilland  was  so  frank  in 
nature  and  so  wholly  under  her  influence  that  it  was 
next  to  impossible  for  him  not  to  share  with  her  his 
every  thought.  She  had,  therefore,  learned  sub- 
stantially the  particulars  of  last  night's  interview, 
and  she  could  not  fully  accept  his  belief  that  Gra- 
ham's intellect  alone  had  been  captivated.  She 
remembered  how  he  had  leaned  against  the  tree 
for  support  ;   how   pale   he    had  been  during    the 


NOBLE  DECEPTION.  141 

evening  that  followed  ;  and  how  his  hand  had 
trembled  in  parting.  She  remembered  his  sudden 
flig-ht  to  the  mountains,  his  tireless  energy  there,  as 
if  driven  on  by  an  aching  wound  that  permitted  no 
rest.  True,  he  had  borne  himself  strongly  and  well 
in  her  presence  the  evening  before  ;  and  he  had 
given  the  friend  who  knew  him  so  well  the  impres- 
sion that  it  was  merely  an  instance  of  the  quiet 
weighing  of  the  pros  and  cons,  in  which,  after  much 
deliberation,  the  pros  had  won.  There  had  been 
much  in  his  course,  too,  to  give  color  to  this  view 
of  the  case  ;  but  her  woman's  instinct  suggested 
that  there  was  something  more, — something  she  did 
not  know  about  ;  and  she  would  have  been  less  or 
more  than  woman  had  she  not  wished  to  learn  the 
whole  truth  in  a  matter  of  this  nature.  She  hoped 
that  her  lover  was  right,  and  that  Graham's  heart,  in 
accordance  with  his  development  theory,  was  so  in- 
choate as  to  be  incapable  of  much  suffering.  She 
was  not  sure,  however.  There  was  something  she 
surmised  rather  than  detected.  She  felt  it  now  in 
Mrs.  Mayburn's  presence,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
it  in  the  flush  that  was  fading  from  her  cheeks. 
Had  the  nephew  given  his  aunt  his  confidence  ?  or 
had  she  with  her  ripe  experience  and  keen  insight 
discovered  the  ultimate  truth  ? 

It  was  evident  that  while  Mrs.  Mayburn  still 
loved  her  dearly,  and  probably  was  much  disap- 
pointed that  things  had  turned  out  as  they  had,  she 
had  given  her  loyalty  to  Graham,  and  would  volun- 
tarily neither  do  nor  say  anything  that  would  com- 
promise him.     The  slight  flush  suggested  to  Grace 


142  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

that  the  aunt  had  awaited  the  nephew's  return  in 
the  early  dawn,  and  that  they  had  spoken  freely 
together  before  separating  ;  but  she  was  the  last  one 
in  the  world  to  attempt  to  surprise  a  secret  from 
another. 

Still  she  wished  to  know  the  truth,  for  she  felt  a 
little  guilty  over  her  reticence  in  regard  to  her 
relations  with  Hilland.  She,  perhaps,  had  made 
too  much  of  the  luxury  of  keeping  her  secret  until  it 
could  shine  forth  as  the  sun  of  her  life  ;  and  Graham 
had  been  left  in  an  ignorance  that  had  not  been  fair 
to  him.  With  a  growing  perception  of  his  char- 
acter, now  that  she  had  given  thought  to  the  sub- 
ject, she  saw  that  if  he  had  learned  to  love  her  at 
all,  it  must  be  in  accordance  with  his  nature,  quietly, 
deliberately,  even  analytically.  He  was  the  last  man 
to  fall  tumultuously  in  love.  But  when  he  had  given 
it  in  his  own  way,  could  she  be  sure  it  was  a  cool, 
easily  managed  preference  that  he  might  at  his 
leisure  transfer  to  another  who  satisfied  his  reason 
and  taste  even  more  fully  than  herself?  If  this 
were  true,  her  mind  would  be  at  rest  ;  and  she  could 
hke  Hilland's  friend  heartily,  as  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  human  oddities  it  had  been  her  fortune  to 
meet.  She  had  serious  misgivings,  however,  which 
Mrs.  Mayburn's  sudden  indisposition,  and  the  marks 
of  suffering  upon  her  face,  did  not  tend  to  banish. 

Whatever  the  truth  might  be,  she  felt  that  he  had 
shown  much  thoughtfulness  for  her  in  his  frankness 
with  Hilland.  He  had  rendered  it  unnecessary  for 
her  to  conceal  her  knowledge  of  his  regard.  She 
need  have  no  secrets,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 


NOBLE  DECEPTION.  143 

The  only  question  was  as  to  the  nature  of  this 
regard.  If  the  impression  he  sought  to  give  her 
lover  was  correct,  neither  of  them  had  cause  for 
much  solicitude.  If  to  save  them  pain  he  was  seeking 
to  hide  a  deeper  wound,  it  was  a  noble  deception, 
and  dictated  by  a  noble,  unselfish  nature.  If  the 
latter  supposition  should  prove  true,  she  felt  that 
she  would  discover  it  without  any  direct  effort.  But 
she  also  felt  that  her  lover  should  be  left,  if  possible, 
under  the  impression  his  friend  had  sought  to  make, 
and  that  Graham  should  have  the  solace  of  thinking 
he  had  concealed  his  feelings  from  them  both. 

As  the  long  evening  shadows  stretched  eastward 
across  the  sloping  lawn  in  front  of  the  St.  John 
cottage,  the  family  gathered  on  the  piazza  to  enjoy 
the  welcome  respite  from  the  scorching  heat  of  the 
day. 

The  old  major  looked  weary  and  overcome.  A 
July  sun  was  the  only  fire  before  which  he  had  ever 
flinched.  Hilland  still  appeared  a  little  heavy  from 
his  long  hot  afternoon  nap,  his  amends  for  the 
vigils  of  the  previous  night.  Grace  was  enchanting 
in  her  light  clinging  draperies,  which  made  her 
lovely  form  tenfold  more  beautiful,  because  clothed 
in  perfect  taste.  The  heat  had  deepened  the  flush 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  brought  a  soft  languor  into  her 
eyes,  and  as  she  stood  under  an  arch  of  the 
American  woodbine,  that  mantled  the  supports  of 
the  piazza  roof,  she  might  easily  have  fulfilled  an 
artist's  dream  of  summer.  Hilland's  eyes  kindled  as 
he  looked  upon  her,  as  she  stood  with  averted  face, 
conscious  meanwhile  of  his  admiration,  and  exulting 


144  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

in  it.     What  sweeter  incense   is  ever  offered  to  a 
woman  ? 

"Grace,"  he  whispered,  "you  would  create  a 
pulse  in  a  marble  statue  to-night.  You  never 
looked  more  lovely." 

"  There  is  a  glamour  on  your  eyes,  Warren,"  she 
replied  ;  and  yet  the  quick  flash  of  joy  that  came 
into  her  face  proved  the  power  of  his  words,  which 
still  had  all  the  exquisite  charm  of  novelty. 

"  It's  a  glamour  that  will  last  while  I  do,"  he 
responded,  earnestly.  "  Are  not  this  scene  and  hour 
perfect  ?  and  you  are  the  gem  of  it  all.  I  don't  see 
how  a  man  could  ask  or  wish  for  more  than  1  have 
to-night,  except  that  it  might  last  forever."  A 
shadow  passed  over  his  face,  and  he  added  present- 
ly, ' '  To  think  that  after  a  few  weeks  I  must  return 
to  those  blasted  mines  !  One  thing  is  settled,  how- 
ever. I  shall  close  out  my  interests  there  as 
speedily  as  possible  ;  and  were  it  not  for  my  obliga- 
tions to  others,  I'd  never  go  near  them  again.  I 
have  money  enough  twice  over,  and  am  a  fool  to 
miss  one  hour  with  j^ou." 

"  You  will  be  all  the  happier,  Warren,  if  you 
close  up  your  interests  in  the  West  in  a  manly, 
business-like  way.  I  always  wish  to  be  as  proud  of 
you  as  I  am  now.  What's  more,  I  don't  believe  in 
idle  men,  no  matter  how  rich  they  are.  I  should  be 
worried  at  once  if  you  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit 
around  and  make  fine  speeches.  You'd  soon  weary 
of  the  sugar-plum  business,  and  so  should  I.  I  have 
read  somewhere  that  the  true  way  to  keep  a  man  a 
lover  is  to  give  him  plenty  of  work." 


NOBLE  DECEPTION.  1 45 

"  Will  you  choose  my  work  for  me  ?" 

"  No  ;  anything  you  like,  so  it  is  not  specula- 
tion." 

"  I  think  I'll  come  and  be  your  father's  gar- 
dener." 

"If  you  do, ' '  she  replied,  with  a  decisive  little  nod, 
"  you  will  have  to  rake  and  hoe  so  many  hours 
a  day  before  you  can  have  any  dinner." 

"  But  you,  fair  Eve,  would  bring  your  fancy  work, 
and  sit  with  me  in  the  shade." 

"  The  idea  of  a  gardener  sitting  in  the  shade,  with 
weeds  growing  on  every  side." 

"  But  you  would,  my  Eve." 

"  Possibly,  after  I  had  seen  that  you  had  earned 
your  bread  by  the  *  perspiration  of  your  brow,'  as  a 
very  nice  maiden  lady,  a  neighbor  of  ours,  always 
phrases  it." 

"That  shall  be  my  calling  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
East  again.  Major,  I  apply  for  the  situation  of 
gardener  as  soon  as  I  can  sell  out  my  interests  in 
the  mines." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Grace  commands  this  post,  and  while  here  you 
are  under  her  orders." 

"  And  you'll  find  out,  too,  what  a  martinet  I 
am,"  she  added.  "There's  no  telling  how  often 
I'll  put  you  under  arrest  and  mount  guard  over  you 
myself.     So  !" 

"What  numberless  breaches  of  discipline  there 
will  be  !" 

Lovers'  converse  consists  largely  in  tone  and 
glance,  and  these  cannot  be  written  ;  and   were  this 


146  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

possible,  it  could  have  but  the  slenderest  interest  to 
the  reader. 

After  a  transient  pause  Hilland  remarked,  "  Think 
of  poor  Graham  in  the  fiery  furnace  of  New  York 
to-day.  I  can  imagine  what  a  wilted  and  dilapi- 
dated-looking specimen  he  will  be  if  he  escapes 
alive —  By  Jove,  there  he  is  !"  and  the  subject  of 
his  speech  came  as  briskly  up  the  walk  as  if  the 
thermometer  had  been  in  the  seventies  instead  of  the 
nineties.  His  dress  was  quiet  and  elegant,  and  his 
form  erect  and  step  elastic. 

As  he  approached  the  piazza  and  doffed  his  hat, 
Hilland  cried,  "  Graham,  you  are  the  coolest  fellow 
I  ever  saw.  I  was  just  commiserating  you,  and 
expecting  you  to  look  like  a  cabbage — no,  rose — 
leaf  that  had  been  out  in  the  sun  ;  and  you  appear 
just  as  if  you  had  stepped  from  a  refrigerator." 

"  All  a  matter  of  temperament  and  will,  my  dear 
fellow.  I  decided  I  would  not  be  hot  to-day  ;  and 
I've  been  very  comfortable." 

Why  did  you   not    decide   not  to   be   cold  last 
night  ?" 

"  I  was  so  occupied  with  your  interminable  yarns 
that  I  forgot  to  think  about  it.  Miss  Grace,  for 
your  sake  and  on  this  evening,  I  might  wish  that 
there  was  a  coolness  between  us,  but  from  your  kind 
greeting  I  see  there  is  not.  Good-evening,  major. 
I  have  brought  with  me  a  slight  proof  that  I  do  not 
forget  my  friends  ;"  and  he  handed  him  a  large 
package  of  newspapers,  several  of  them  being  finely 
illustrated  foreign  prints. 

"  I  promote  you  on  the  spot,"  cried  the  delighted 


NOBLE  deception:  147 

veteran.  "  I  felt  that  fate  owed  me  some  amends 
for  this  long,  horrid  day.  My  paper  did  not  come 
this  morning,  and  I  had  too  much  regard  for  the 
lives  of  my  household  to  send  any  one  up  the  hot 
streets  after  one." 

"  O  papa  !"  cried  Grace,  "  forgive  me  that  I  did 
not  discover  the  fact.  I'm  sure  I  saw  you  reading 
a  paper." 

"  It  was  an  old  one.  I  read  it  through  again, 
advertisements  and  all.  O,  I  know  you.  You'd 
have  turned  out  the  whole  garrison  at  twelve  M., 
had  you  found  it  out." 

Graham  dropped  carelessly  into  an  easy-chair, 
and  they  all  noted  the  pleasure  with  which  the  old 
gentleman  adjusted  his  glasses,  and  scanned  the 
pictures  of  the  world's  current  history.  Like  many 
whose  sight  is  failing,  and  to  whom  the  tastes  and 
memories  of  childhood  are  returning,  the  poor  old 
man  found  increasing  delight  in  a  picture  which 
suggested  a  great  deal,  and  aided  him  to  imagine 
more  ;  and  he  would  often  beguile  his  tedium  by 
the  hour  with  the  illustrated  journals. 

"  Mr.  Graham,"  said  Grace,  after  a  pause  in  their 
talk,  "  have  you  seen  your  aunt  since  your  return  ?" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  turning  hastily  toward  her. 

"  She  Is  not  very  v/ell  ;  I've  been  to  see  her 
twice." 

He  gave  her  a  momentary  but  searching  glance, 
rose  instantly,  and  said,  "Please  excuse  me,  then. 
I  feel  guilty  that  I  have  delayed  a  moment,  but  this 
piazza  was  so  inviting  !"  and  he  hastened  away. 

"  Does  he  look  and   act  like  a  man  who  '  hid   a 


148  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

secret  sorrow*?"  whispered  Hilland,  confidently. 
**  I  never  saw  him  appear  so  well  before. 

Grace  smiled,  but  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself. 
To  her  also  Graham  had  never  appeared  so  well. 
There  was  decision  in  his  step  and  slightest  move- 
ment. The  old  easy  saunter  of  leisure  was  gone  ; 
the  old  half-dreamy  and  slightly  cynical  eyes  of  the 
student  showed  a  purpose  which  was  neither  slight 
nor  indefinite  ;  and  that  brief,  searching  glance, — 
what  else  could  it  be  than  a  query  as  to  the  con- 
fidences his  aunt  may  have  bestowed  during  the 
day  ?  Moreover,  why  did  he  avoid  looking  at  her 
unless  there  was  distinct  occasion  for  his  glance  ? 

She  would  have  known  too  well  had  she  heard 
poor  Graham  mutter,  "  My  will  must  be  made  of 
Bessemer  steel  if  I  can  see  her  often  as  she  looked 
to-night  and  live." 

In  the  evening  Hilland  walked  over  to  call  on  his 
friend  and  make  inquiries.  Through  the  parlor 
windows  he  saw  Graham  reading  to  his  aunt,  who 
reclined  on  a  lounge  ;  and  he  stole  away  again  with- 
out disturbing  them. 

The  next  few  days  passed  uneventfully  away,  and 
Graham's  armor  was  almost  proof  against  even  the 
penetration  of  Grace.  He  did  not  assume  any  mask 
of  gayety.  He  seemed  to  be  merely  his  old  self, 
with  a  subtle  difference,  and  a  very  unobtrusive  air 
of  decision  in  all  his  movements.  He  was  with  his 
friend  a  great  deal  ;  and  she  heard  them  talking  over 
their  old  life  with  much  apparent  zest.  He  was  as 
good  company  for  the  major  as  ever,  and  when  at 
whist  played  so  good  a  game  as  to  show  that  he  was 


NOBLE   DECEPTION. 


149 


giving  it  careful  attention.  There  was  a  gentleness 
toward  his  aunt  that  rather  belied  his  character  of 
stoic  philosopher.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  have 
dropped  this  phase  also,  and  was  simply  a  vv^ell-bred 
man  of  the  world,  avoiding  reference  to  himself, 
and  his  past  or  present  views,  as  far  as  possible. 

To  a  question  of  Hilland's  one  day  he  replied, 
"  No  ;  I  shall  not  go  back  to  my  studies  at  present. 
As  I  told  you  the  other  night,  my  excursion  into 
the  world  has  shown  me  the  advantage  of  studying 
it  more  fully.  While  I  shall  never  be  a  Croesus  like 
yourself,  I  am  modestly  independent  ;  and  I  mean 
to  see  the  world  we  live  in,  and  then  shall  know 
better  what  I  am  studying  about." 

When  Hilland  told  Grace  of  this  purpose,  she  felt  it 
was  in  keeping  with  all  the  rest.  It  might  mean  what 
was  on  the  surface  ;  it  might  mean  more.  It  might 
be  a  part  of  the  possible  impulse  that  had  driven 
him  into  the  Vermont  woods,  or  the  natural  and 
rational  step  he  would  have  taken  had  he  never  seen 
her.  At  any  rate,  she  felt  that  he  was  daily  growing 
more  remote,  and  that  by  a  nice  gradation  of  effort 
he  was  consciously  withdrawing  himself.  And  yet 
she  could  scarcely  dwell  on  a  single  word  or  act,  and 
say,  "  This  proves  it."  His  manner  toward  her  was 
most  cordial.  When  they  conversed  he  looked  at 
her  steadily  and  directly,  and  would  respond  in  kind 
to  her  mirthful  words  and  Hilland's  broad  raillery  ; 
but  she  never  detected  one  of  the  furtive,  lingering 
glances  that  she  now  remembered  with  compunction 
were  once  frequent.  It  was  quite  proper  that  this 
should  be  so,  but  it  was  unnatural.     If  hitherto  she 


150  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS, 

had  only  pleased  his  taste  and  satisfied  his  reason,  it 
would  be  a  safe  and  harmless  pastime  for  him  to  lin- 
ger near  her  still  in  thought  and  reality.  If  he  was 
struggling  with  a  passion  that  had  struck  its  root 
deep,  then  there  was  good  reason  for  that  steady 
withdrawal  from  her  society  v/l^ich  he  managed  so 
naturally  that  no  one  observed  it  but  herself. 
Hilland  had  no  misgivings,  and  she  suggested 
none  ;  but  whenever  she  was  in  the  presence  of 
Graham  or  Mrs.  Mayburn,  although  their  courtesy 
and  kind  manner  were  unexceptionable,  she  felt 
there  was  "  something  in  the  air." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"l   WISH    HE   HAD   KNOWN." 

THE  heat  continued  so  oppressive  that  the 
major  gave  signs  of  prostration,  and  Grace 
decided  to  take  him  to  his  old  haunt  by  the  sea- 
shore. The  seclusion  of  their  cottage  was,  of  course, 
more  agreeable  to  Hilland  and  herself  under  the 
circumstances  ;  but  Grace  never  hesitated  vv^hen  her 
father  was  concerned.  Shortly  after  the  decision 
was  reached,  Hilland  met  his  friend,  and  promptly 
urged  that  he  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  should  accompany 
them. 

"Certainly,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "if  my  aunt 
wishes  to  go." 

But  for  some  cause,  if  not  for  the  reasons  given, 
the  old  lady  was  inexorable  that  evening,  even 
though  the  major  with  much  gallantry  urged  her 
compliance.  She  did  not  like  the  sea-shore.  It 
did  not  agree  with  her  ;  and,  what  was  worse,  she 
detested  hotels.  She  was  better  in  her  own  quiet 
nook,  etc.     Alford  might  go,  if  he  chose. 

But  Graham  when  appealed  to  said  it  was  both 
his  duty  and  his  pleasure  to  remain  with  his  aunt, 
especially  as  he  was  going  abroad  as  soon   as  he 


152  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

could  arrange  his  affairs.  "  Don't  put  on  that 
injured  air,"  he  added,  laughingly,  to  Hilland.  "  As 
if  you  needed  me  at  present  !  You  two  are  sufficient 
for  yourselves  ;  and  why  should  I  tramp  after  you 
like  the  multitude  I  should  be  ?" 

"  What  do  you  know  about  our  being  sufficient 
for  ourselves  ?  I'd  like  to  ask,"  was  the  bantering 
response. 

"  I  have  the  best  authority  for  saying  what  I 
do, — written  authority,  and  that  of  a  sage,  too. 
Here  it  is,  heavily  underscored  by  a  hand  that  I 
imagine  is  as  heavy  as  your  own.  Ah  !  Miss  Grace's 
conscious  looks  prove  that  I  am  right,"  he  added, 
as  he  laid  the  open  volume  of  Emerson,  which  he 
had  returned,  before  her.  "  1  remember  reading 
that  paragraph  the  first  evening  I  came  to  my  aunt's 
house  ;  and  I  thought  it  a  very  curious  statement. 
It  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  a  sort  of  polyp  or 
mollusk,  instead  of  a  man," 

' '  Let  me  see  the  book, ' '  cried  Hilland.  ' '  O,  yes, 
he  continued,  laughing  ;  *'  I  remember  it  all  well, — 
the  hopes,  the  misgivings  with  which  I  sent  the 
volume  eastward  on  its  mission, — the  hopes  and 
fears  that  rose  when  the  book  was  acknowledged 
with  no  chidings  or  coldness,  and  also  with  no  allu- 
sions to  the  marked  passage, — the  endless  surmises  as 
to  what  this  gentle  reader  would  think  of  the  senti- 
ments within  these  black  lines.  Ha  !  ha  !  Graham. 
No  doubt  but  this  is  Sanscrit  ;  and  all  the  professors 
of  all  the  universities  could  not  interpret  it  to  you." 

"  That's  what  I  said  in  substance  on  the  even- 
ing referred  to — that  Emerson  never  learned  this  at 


"/   WISH  HE  HAD   KNOWN."  153 

a  university.  I  confess  that  it's  an  experience  that  is 
and  ever  will  be  beyond  me.  But  it's  surely  good 
authority  for  remaining  here  with  my  aunt,  who 
needs  me  more  than  you  do." 

"  How  is  it,  then,  Mr.  Graham,  that  you  can  leave 
your  aunt  for  months  of  travel?"  Grace  asked. 

"  Why,  Grace,"  spoke  up  Mrs.  Mayburn,  quickly, 
"you  cannot  expect  Alford  to  transform  himself 
into  an  old  lady's  life-long  attendant.  He  will  enjoy 
his  travel  and  come  back  to  me." 

The  young  girl  made  no  answer,  but  thought, 
**  Their  defensive  alliance  is  a  strong  one." 

"  Besides,"  continued  the  old  lady,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  I  think  it's  very  kind  of  him  to  remain  with 
me,  instead  of  going  to  the  beach  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  the  marring  of  yours." 

"  Now,  that's  putting  it  much  too  strong,"  cried 
Hilland.      "  Graham  never  marred  our  pleasure." 

"  And  I  hope  he  never  will,"  was  the  low,  earnest 
response.  To  Grace's  ear  it  sounded  more  like  a 
vow  or  the  expression  of  a  controlling  purpose  than 
like  a  mere  friendly  remark. 

The  next  day  the  St.  John  cottage  was  alive  with 
the  bustle  of  preparation  for  departure,  Graham 
made  no  officious  offers  of  assistance,  which,  of 
course,  would  be  futile,  but  quietly  devoted  himself 
to  the  major.  Whenever  Grace  appeared  from  the 
upper  regions,  she  found  her  father  amused  or  in- 
terested, and  she  smiled  her  gratitude.  In  the 
evening  she  found  a  chance  to  say  in  a  low  aside, 
"  Mr.  Graham,  you  are  keeping  your  word  to  be 
my  friend.     If  the  sea-breezes  prove  as  beneficial  to 


154  i^i^S  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

papa  as  your  society  to-day,  I  shall  be  glad  indeed. 
You  don't  know  how  much  you  have  aided  me  by 
entertaining  him  so  kindly." 

Both  her  tone  and  glance  were  very  gentle  as  she 
spoke  these  words,  and  for  a  moment  his  silence 
and  manner  perplexed  her.  Then  he  replied  lightly, 
"You  are  mistaken.  Miss  Grace.  Your  father  has 
been  entertaining  me." 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  point,  and  Graham 
seemed  to  grow  more  remote  than  ever. 

Hilland  was  parting  from  his  friend  with  evident 
and  sincere  regret.  He  had  made  himself  very  use- 
ful in  packing,  strapping  trunks,  and  in  a  general 
eagerness  to  save  his  betrothed  from  all  fatigue  ; 
but  whenever  occasion  offered  he  would  sally  forth 
upon  Graham,  who,  with  the  major,  followed  the 
shade  on  the  piazza.  Some  jocular  speech  usually 
accompanied  his  appearance,  and  he  always  received 
the  same  in  kind  with  such  liberal  interest  that  he 
remarked  to  Grace  more  than  once,  "  You  are  the 
only  being  in  the  world  for  whom  I'd  leave  Graham 
during  his  brief  stay  in  this  land." 

"  O,  return  to  him  by  all  means,"  she  had  said 
archly  upon  one  occasion.  "  We  did  very  well  alone 
last  year  before  we  were  aware  of  your  existence." 

"  You  may  not  care,"  was  his  merry  response, 
"  but  it  is  written  in  one  of  the  oldest  books  of  the 
world,  '  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.'  O 
Grace,  what  an  infinite  difference  there  is  between 
love  for  a  woman  like  you  and  the  strongest  friend- 
ship between  man  and  man  !  Graham  just  suits  me 
as  a  friend.     After  a  separation  of  years  I  find  him 


"/    WISH  HE  HAD    A'iVOlVA\"  155 

just  the  same  even-pulsed,  half-cynical,  yet  genial 
good  fellow  he  always  was.  It's  hard  to  get  within 
his  shell  ;  but  when  you  do,  you  find  the  kernel 
sweet  and  sound  to  the  core,  even  if  it  is  rather  dry. 
From  the  time  we  struck  hands  as  boys  there  has 
never  been  an  unpleasant  jar  in  our  relations.  We 
supplement  each  other  marvellously  ;  but  how  in- 
finitely more  and  beyond  all  this  is  your  love  ! 
How  it  absorbs  and  swallows  up  every  other  con- 
sideration, so  that  one  hour  with  you  is  more  to  me 
than  an  age  with  all  the  men  of  wit  and  wisdom  that 
ever  lived  !  No  ;  I'm  not  a  false  friend  when  I  say  that 
I  am  more  than  content  to  go  and  remain  with  you  ; 
and  if  Graham  had  a  hundredth  part  as  much  heart 
as  brains  he  would  understand  me.  Indeed,  his  very 
intellect  serves  in  the  place  of  a  heart  after  a 
fashion  ;  for  he  took  Emerson  on  trust  so  intelli- 
gently as  to  comprehend  that  I  should  not  be  incon- 
solable." 

"  Mr.  Graham  puzzles  me,"  Grace  had  remarked, 
as  she  absently  inspected  the  buttons  on  one  of  her 
father's  vests.  "  I  never  met  just  such  a  man 
before." 

"And  probably  never  will  again.  He  has  been 
isolated  and  peculiar  from  childhood.  I  know  him 
well,  and  he  has  changed  but  little  in  essentials 
since  I  left  him  over  two  years  ago." 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  complacent  belief  about 
him,"  was  her  mental  conclusion.  "  I  sometimes 
think  you  are  right,  and  again  I  feel  as  if  some  one 
in  almost  mortal  pain  is  near  me,  and  that  I  am  to 
blame  in  part." 


156  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

Whist  was  dispensed  with  the  last  night  they  were 
together,  for  the  evening  was  close,  and  all  were 
weary.  Grace  thought  Graham  looked  positively 
haggard  ;  but  whether  by  design  or  chance,  he  kept 
in  the  shadows  of  the  piazza  most  of  the  time.  Still 
she  had  to  admit  that  he  was  the  life  of  the  party. 
Mrs.  Mayburn  was  apparently  so  overcome  by  the 
heat  as  to  be  comparatively  silent  ;  and  Hilland 
openly  admitted  that  the  July  day  and  his  exertions 
had  used  him  up.  Therefore  the  last  gathering  at 
the  St.  Johns'  cottage  came  to  a  speedy  end  ;  and 
Graham  not  only  said  good-night,  but  also  good-by  ; 
for,  as  he  explained,  business  called  him  to  town 
early  the  following  morning.  He  parted  fraternally 
with  Hilland,  giving  a  promise  to  spend  a  day  with 
him  before  he  sailed  for  Europe.  Then  he  broke 
away,  giving  Grace  as  a  farewell  only  a  strong,  warm 
pressure  of  the  hand,  and  hastened  after  his  aunt, 
who  had  walked  on  slowly  before.  The  major,  after 
many  friendly  expressions,  had  retired  quite  early 
in  the  evening. 

Grace  saw  the  dark  outline  of  Graham's  form  disap- 
pear like  a  shadow,  and  every  day  thereafter  he  grew 
more  shadowy  to  her.  To  a  degree  she  did  not 
imagine  possible  he  had  bafifled  her  scrutiny  and  left 
her  in  doubt.  Either  he  had  quietly  and  philosoph- 
ically accepted  the  situation,  or  he  wished  her  to 
think  so.  In  either  case  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  Once  away  with  father  and  lover  she  had 
her  world  with  her  ;  and  life  grew  richer  and  more 
full  of  content  every  day. 

Lassitude  and    almost    desperate  weariness   were 


"/   WISH  HE  HAD  KNOWN."  157 

in  Graham's  step  as  he  came  up  the  path  the 
following  evening,  for  there  was  no  further  reason 
to  keep  up  the  part  he  was  acting.  When  he 
greeted  his  aunt  he  tried  to  appear  cheerful,  but  she 
said  gently,  "  Put  on  no  mask  before  me,  Alford. 
Make  no  further  effort.  You  have  baffled  even 
Grace,  and  thoroughly  satisfied  your  friend  that  all 
is  well.  Let  the  strain  cease  now  ;  and  let  my 
home  be  a  refuge  while  you  remain.  Your  wound 
is  one  that  time  only  can  heal.  You  have  made  an 
heroic  struggle  not  to  mar  their  happiness,  and  I 
am  proud  of  you  for  it.  But  don't  try  to  deceive 
me  or  put  the  spur  any  longer  to  your  jaded  spirit. 
Reaction  into  new  hopes  and  a  new  life  will  come 
all  the  sooner  if  you  give  w^ay  for  the  present  to 
your  mood." 

The  wise  old  woman  would  have  been  right  in 
dealing  with  most  natures.  But  Graham  would  not 
give  way  to  his  bitter  disappointment,  and  for  him 
there  would  come  no  reaction.  He  quietly  read  to 
her  the  evening  papers,  and  after  she  had  retired 
stole  out  and  gazed  for  hours  on  the  St.  John  cot- 
tage, the  casket  that  had  contained  for  him  the 
jewel  of  the  world.  Then,  compressing  his  lips,  he 
returned  to  his  room  with  the  final  decision,  "  I  will 
be  her  friend  for  life  ;  but  it  must  be  an  absent 
friend.  I  think  my  will  is  strong  ;  but  half  the 
width  of  the  world  must  be  between  us." 

For  the  next  two  weeks  he  sought  to  prepare  his 
aunt  for  a  long  separation.  He  did  not  hide  his  feel- 
ing ;  indeed,  he  spoke  of  it  with  a  calmness  which, 
while  it  surprised,  also  convinced  her  that  it  would 


158  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

dominate  his  life.  She  was  made  to  see  clearly  the 
necessity  of  his  departure,  if  he  would  keep  his 
promise  to  live  and  do  his  best.  He  promised  to 
be  a  faithful  and  voluminous  correspondent,  and 
she  knew  she  would  live  upon  his  letters.  After 
the  lapse  of  three  weeks  he  had  arranged  his  affairs 
so  as  to  permit  a  long  absence,  and  then  parted  with 
his  aunt  as  if  he  had  been  her  son. 

"  Alford,"  she  said,  "  all  that  I  have  is  yours,  as 
you  will  find  in  my  will." 

"  Dear  aunty,"  was  his  reply,  "  in  giving  me 
your  love  you  have  given  me  all  that  ]  crave.  I 
have  more  than  enough  for  my  wants.  Forgive  mfe 
that  I  cannot  stay  ;  but  I  cannot.  I  have  learned 
the  limit  of  my  power  of  endurance.  I  know  that  I 
cannot  escape  myself  or  my  memories,  but  new 
scenes  divert  my  thoughts.  Here,  I  believe,  I  should 
go  mad,  or  else  do  something  wild  and  desperate. 
Forgive  me,  and  do  not  judge  me  harshly  because  I 
leave  you.  Perhaps  some  day  this  fever  of  unrest 
will  pass  away.  When  it  does,  rest  assured  you 
shall  see  me  again. ' ' 

He  then  went  to  the  sea-side  resort  where  Hilland 
with  the  major  and  his  daughter  was  sojourning,  and 
never  had  they  seen  a  man  who  appeared  so  far  re- 
moved from  the  lackadaisical,  disconsolate  lover. 
His  dress  was  elegant,  although  very  quiet,  his  step 
firm  and  prompt,  and  his  manner  that  of  a  man  who 
is  thoroughly  master  of  the  situation.  The  major  was 
ill  from  an  indiscretion  at  the  table  during  the  pre- 
ceding day,  and  Grace  could  not  leave  him  very 
long.      He    sent    to    his    favorite    companion    and 


"/    IVISH  HE   HAD   KNOWN:'  159 

antagonist  at  whist  many  feeling  messages  and 
sincere  good  wishes,  and  they  lost  nothing  in  hearty 
warmth  as  they  came  from  Grace's  lips  ;  and  for 
some  reason,  which  she  could  scarcely  explain  to 
herself,  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  gave  him  her 
hand  in  parting. 

He  had  been  laughing  and  jesting  vivaciously  a 
moment  before  ;  but  as  he  looked  into  her  face,  so  full 
of  kindly  feeling  which  she  could  not  wholly  repress, 
his  own  seemed  to  grow  rigid,  and  the  hand  she  held 
was  so  cold  and  tense  as  to  remind  her  of  a  steel 
gauntlet.  In  the  supreme  effort  of  his  spiritual 
nature  he  belied  his  creed.  His  physical  being  was 
powerless  in  the  grasp  of  the  dominant  soul.  No 
martyr  at  the  stake  ever  suffered  m.ore  than  he  at 
that  moment,  but  he  merely  said  with  quiet  empha- 
sis, "  Good-by,  Grace  St.  John.  I  shall  not  forget 
my  promise,  nor  can  there  come  a  day  on  which  I 
shall  not  wish  you  all  the  happiness  you  deserve." 

He  then  bowed  gravely  and  turned  away.  She 
hastily  sought  her  room,  and  then  burst  into  an 
irrepressible  passion  of  tears.  "  It's  all  in  vain," 
she  sobbed.  "  I  felt  it.  I  know  it.  He  suffers  as 
I  should  suffer,  and  his  iron  will  cannot  disguise  the 
truth." 

The  friends  strolled  away  up  the  beach  for  their 
final  talk,  and  at  length  Hilland  came  back  in  a 
somewhat  pensive  but  very  complacent  mood. 
Grace  looked  at  him  anxiously,  but  his  first  sen- 
tences reassured  her. 

"  Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  Graham  is  odd,  he's 
certainly  the  best  and  most  sensible  fellow  that  ever 


l6o  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

lived,  and  the  most  steadfast  of  friends.  Here 
we've  been  separated  for  years,  and  yet,  for  any 
change  in  his  attitude  toward  me,  we  might  have 
parted  overnight  at  the  university.  He  was  as 
badly  smitten  by  the  girl  I  love  as  a  man  of  his 
temperament  could  be  ;  but  on  learning  the  facts  he 
recognizes  the  situation  with  a  quiet  good  taste 
which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  He  made  it 
perfectly  clear  to  me  that  travel  for  the  present  was 
only  a  broader  and  more  effective  way  of  continuing 
his  career  as  a  student,  and  that  when  tired  of 
wandering  he  can  go  back  to  books  with  a  larger 
knowledge  of  how  to  use  them.  One  thing  he  has 
made  clearer  still, — if  we  do  not  see  each  other  for 
ten  years,  he  will  come  back  the  same  stanch 
friend." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  Warren.  He  certainly 
has  won  my  entire  respect." 

"  I'm  glad  he  didn't  win  anything  more,  sweet- 
heart." 

"  That  ceased  to  be  possible  long  before  he  came, 
but  I  — I  wish  he  had  known  it,"  was  her  hesitating 
response,  as  she  pushed  Hilland's  hair  back  from  his 
heated  brow. 

"  Nonsense,  you  romantic  little  woman  !  You 
imagine  he  has  gone  away  with  a  great  gaping 
wound  in  his  heart.  Graham  is  the  last  man  in  the 
world  for  that  kind  of  thing,  and  no  one  would 
smile  more  broadly  than  he,  did  he  know  of  your 
gentle  solicitude." 

Grace  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  stole  away 
to  her  father's  side. 


"/  WISH  HE  HAD  KNOWN."  i6i 

The  next  tidings  they  had  of  Graham  was  a  letter 
dated  among  the  fiords  and  mountains  of  Norway. 

At  times  no  snowy  peak  in  that  wintry  land 
seemed  more  shadowy  or  remote  to  Grace  than  he. 
Again,  while  passing  to  and  fro  between  their  own 
and  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage  in  the  autumn,  she 
would  see  him,  with  almost  the  vividness  of  life, 
deathly  pale  as  when  he  leaned  against  the  apple- 
tree  at  their -well-remembered  interview. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   CLOUD   IN   THE   SOUTH. 

THE  summer  heat  passed  speedily,  and  the 
major  returned  to  his  cottage  invigorated  and 
very  complacent  over  his  daughter's  prospects.  Hil- 
land  had  proved  himself  as  manly  and  devoted  a 
lover  as  he  had  been  an  ardent  and  eventually  pa- 
tient suitor.  The  bubbling,  overflowing  stream  of 
happiness  in  Grace's  heart  deepened  into  a  wide 
current,  bearing  her  on  from  day  to  day  toward 
a  future  that  promised  to  satisfy  every  longing  of 
her  woman's  heart.  There  was,  of  course,  natural 
regret  that  Hilland  was  constrained  to  spend  sev- 
eral months  in  the  West  in  order  to  settle  up  his 
large  interests  with  a  due  regard  to  the  rights  of 
others,  and  yet  she  would  not  have  it  otherwise. 
She  was  happy  in  his  almost  unbounded  devotion  ; 
she  would  have  been  less  happy  had  this  devotion 
kept  him  at  her  side  when  his  man's  part  in  the 
world  required  his  presence  elsewhere.  Therefore 
she  bade  him  farewell  with  a  heart  that  was  not  so 
very  heavy,  even  though  tears  gemmed  her  eyes. 

The  autumn  and  early  winter  months  lapsed  quiet- 
ly and  uneventfully,  and  the  inmates  of  the  two  cot- 


THE   CLOUD   IN   THE    SOUTH.  163 

tages  ever  remembered  that  period  of  their  lives  as 
the  era  of  letters, — Graham's  from  over  the  sea 
abounding  in  vivid  descriptions  of  scenes  that  to 
Mrs.  Mayburn's  interested  eyes  were  like  glimpses 
of  another  world,  and  Hilland's,  even  more  vo- 
luminous and  infinitely  more  interesting  to  one  fair 
reader,  to  whom  they  were  sacred  except  as  she 
doled  out  occasional  paragraphs  which  related  suffi- 
ciently to  the  general  order  of  things  to  be  read 
aloud. 

Graham's  letters,  however,  had  a  deep  interest  to 
Grace,  who  sought  to  trace  in  them  the  working  of 
his  mind  in  regard  to  herself.  She  found  it  difficult, 
for  his  letters  were  exceedingly  impersonal,  while  the 
men  and  things  he  saw  often  stood  out  upon  his  page 
with  vivid  realism.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  grew 
more  shadowy,  and  that  he  was  wandering  rather 
than  travelling,  drifting  whithersoever  his  fancy  or 
circumstances  pointed  the  way.  It  was  certain  he 
avoided  the  beaten  paths,  and  freely  indulged  his 
taste  for  regions  remote  and  comparatively  un- 
known. His  excuse  was  that  life  was  far  more 
picturesque  and  unhackneyed,  with  a  chance  for 
an  occasional  adventure,  in  lands  where  one  was 
not  jostled  by  people  with  guide-books, — that  he 
saw  men  and  women  as  the  influences  of  the  ages 
had  been  fashioning  them,  and  not  convention- 
alized by  the  mode  of  the  hour.  "Chief  of  all," 
he  concluded  jestingly,  "  I  can  send  to  my  dear 
aunt  descriptions  of  people  and  scenery  that  she  will 
not  find  better  set  forth  in  half  a  dozen  books  within 
her  reach." 


1 64  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

After  a  month  in  Norway,  he  crossed  the  moun- 
tains into  Sweden,  and  as  winter  approached  drifted 
rapidly  to  the  south  and  east.  One  of  his  letters  was 
dated  at  the  entrance  of  the  Himalayas  in  India, 
and  expressed  his  purpose  to  explore  one  of  the 
grandest  mountain  systems  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  gloated  over  the  letters,  and  Grace 
laughingly  told  her  she  had  learned  more  about  geog- 
raphy since  her  nephew  had  gone  abroad  than  in  all 
her  life  before.  The  major,  also,  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  them,  especially  as  Graham  took  pains  in 
his  behalf  to  give  some  account  of  the  military  or- 
ganizations with  which  he  came  in  contact.  They 
had  little  of  the  nature  of  a  scientific  report.  The 
soldier,  his  life  and  weapons,  were  sketched  with  a 
free  hand  merely,  and  so  became  even  to  the  ladies 
a  picturesque  figure  rather  than  a  military  abstrac- 
tion. From  time  to  time  a  letter  appeared  in  Mrs. 
Mayburn's  favorite  journal  signed  by  the  initials  of 
the  traveller  ;  and  these  epistles  she  cut  out  and 
pasted  most  carefully  in  a  book  which  Grace  jestingly 
called  her  "  family  Bible." 

But  as  time  passed,  Graham  occupied  less  and  less 
space  in  the  thoughts  of  all  except  his  aunt.  The 
major's  newspaper  became  more  absorbing  than 
ever,  for  the  clouds  gathering  in  the  political  skies 
threatened  evils  that  seemed  to  him  without  remedy. 
Strongly  Southern  and  conservative  in  feeling,  he 
was  deeply  incensed  at  what  he  termed  "  Northern 
fanaticism."  Only  less  hateful  to  him  was  a  class 
in  the  South,  known  in  the  parlance  of  the  times  as 
"  fire-eaters." 


THE   CLOUD  IN  THE   SOUTH.  165 

All  through  the  winter  and  spring  of  i860  he  had 
his  "  daily  growl,"  as  Grace  termed  it  ;  and  she  as- 
sured him  it  was  growing  steadily  deeper  and 
louder.  Yet  it  was  evidently  a  source  of  so  much 
comfort  to  him  that  she  always  smiled  in  secret  over 
his  invective, — noting,  also,  that  while  he  deplored 
much  that  was  said  and  done  by  the  leaders  of  the 
day,  the  prelude  of  the  great  drama  interested  him  so 
deeply  that  he  half  forgot  his  infirmities.  In  fact,  she 
had  more  trouble  with  Hilland,  who  had  returned, 
and  was  urging  an  early  date  for  their  marriage. 
Her  lover  was  an  ardent  Republican,  and  hated  sla- 
very with  New  England  enthusiasm.  The  arrogance 
and  blindness  of  the  South  had  their  counterpart  at 
the  North,  and  Hilland  had  not  escaped  the  infec- 
tion. He  was  much  inclined  to  belittle  the  re- 
sources of  the  former  section,  to  scoff  at  its  threats, 
and  to  demand  that  the  North  should  peremptorily 
and  imperiously  check  all  further  aggressions  of  sla- 
very. At  first  it  required  not  a  little  tact  on  the  part 
of  Grace  to  preserve  political  harmony  between 
father  and  lover  ;  but  the  latter  speedily  recognized 
that  the  major's  age  and  infirmities,  together  with 
his  early  associations,  gave  him  almost  unlimited 
privilege  to  think  and  say  what  he  pleased.  Hil- 
land soon  came  to  hear  with  good-natured  non- 
chalance his  Northern  allies  berated,  and  considered 
himself  well  repaid  by  one  mirthful,  grateful  glance 
from  Grace. 

After  all,  what  was  any  political  squabble  com- 
pared with  the  fact  that  Grace  had  promised  to 
marry  him  in  June  ?     The  settlement  of  the  differ- 


1 66  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ence  between  the  North  and  South  was  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time,  and  that,  too,  in  his  belief,  not  far  re- 
mote. 

"Why  should  I  worry  about  it?"  he  said  to 
Grace.  "When  the  North  gets  angry  enough  to 
put  its  foot  down,  all  this  bluster  about  State-rights, 
and  these  efforts  to  foist  slavery  on  a  people  who  are 
disgusted  with  it,  will  cease." 

"  Take  care,"  she  replied  archly.  "  I'm  a  South- 
ern girl.  Think  what  might  happen  if  I  put  my  foot 
down." 

"  O,  when  it  comes  to  you,"  was  his  quick  re- 
sponse, "  I'm  the  Democratic  party.  I  will  get 
down  on  my  knees  at  any  time  ;  I'll  yield  anything 
and  stand  everything." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  in  just  such  a  frame  of  mind 
ten  years  hence." 

It  was  well  that  the  future  was  hidden  from  her. 

Hilland  wrote  to  his  friend,  asking,  indeed  almost 
insisting,  that  he  should  return  in  time  for  the  wed- 
ding. Graham  did  not  come,  and  intimated  that 
he  was  gathering  materials  which  might  result  in  a 
book.  He  sent  a  letter,  however,  addressed  to  them 
both,  and  full  of  a  spirit  of  such  loyal  good-will  that 
Hilland  said  it  was  like  a  brother's  grip.  "  Well, 
well,"  he  concluded,  "  if  Graham  has  the  book- 
making  fever  upon  him,  we  shall  have  to  give  him  up 
indefinitely." 

Grace  was  at  first  inclined  to  take  the  same  view, 
feeling  that,  even  if  he  had  been  sorely  wound- 
ed, his  present  life  and  the  prospects  it  gave  of 
authorship  had  gained  so  great  a  fascination  that  he 


THE   CLOUD  IN   THE   SOUTH.  167 

would  come  back  eventually  with  only  a  memory  of 
what  he  had  suffered.  Her  misgivings,  however, 
returned  when,  on  seeing  the  letter,  Mrs.  May- 
burn's  eyes  became  suddenly  dimmed  with  tears. 
She  turned  away  abruptly  and  seemed  vexed  with 
herself  for  having  shown  the  emotion,  but  only 
said  quietly,  "  I  once  thought  Alford  had  no  heart ; 
but  that  letter  was  not  written  *  out  of  his  head,' 
as  we  used  to  say  when  children." 

She  gave  Grace  no  reason  to  complain  of  any  lack 
of  affectionate  interest  in  her  preparations  ;  and  when 
the  wedding  day  came  she  assured  the  blushing  girl 
that  * '  no  one  had  ever  looked  upon  a  lovelier  bride. 

Ever  mindful  of  her  father,  Grace  would  take  no 
wedding  journey,  although  her  old  friend  offered  to 
come  and  care  for  him.  She  knew  well  how  essen- 
tial her  voice  and  hand  were  to  his  comfort  ;  and 
she  would  not  permit  him  to  entertain,  even  for  a 
moment,  the  thought  that  in  any  sense  he  had  lost 
her.  So  they  merely  returned  to  his  favorite  haunt 
by  the  sea,  and  Hilland  was  loyal  to  the  only  condi- 
tion in  their  engagement, — that  she  should  be  per- 
mitted to  keep  her  promise  to  her  dying  mother, 
and  never  leave  her  father  to  the  care  of  others,  un- 
less under  circumstances  entirely  beyond  her  con- 
trol. 

Later  in  the  season  Mrs.  Mayburn  joined  them  at 
the  beach,  for  she  found  her  life  at  the  cottage  too 
lonely  to  be  endured. 

It  was  a  summer  of  unalloyed  happiness  to  Hil- 
land and  his  wife,  and  the  major  promised  to  renew 
his  youth  in  the  warm  sunlight  of  his  prosperity. 


1 68  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

The  exciting  presidential  canvass  afforded  abundant 
theme  for  the  daily  discussions  in  his  favorite  cor- 
ner of  the  piazza,  where,  surrounded  by  some  vet- 
eran cronies  whom  he  had  known  in  former  years,  he 
joined  them  in  predictions  and  ominous  head-shak- 
ings over  the  monstrous  evils  that  would  follow  the 
election  of  Mr.  Lincoln.  Hilland,  sitting  in  the  back- 
ground with  Grace,  would  listen,  stroke  his  tawny 
beard  as  he  glanced  humorously  at  his  wife,  who 
knew  that  he  was  working,  quietly  out  of  deference 
to  his  father-in-law,  but  most  effectively,  in  the  Re- 
publican campaign.  .Although  Southern  born  she 
had  the  sense  to  grant  to  men  full  liberty  of  per- 
sonal opinion, — a  quality  that  it  would  be  well  for 
many  of  her  sisterhood  to  imitate.  Indeed,  she 
would  have  despised  a  man  who  had  not  sufficient 
force  to  think  for  himself  ;  and  she  loved  her  hus- 
band all  the  more  because  in  some  of  his  views  he 
differed  radically  with  her  father  and  herself. 

Meantime  the  cloud  gathering  in  the  South  grew 
darker  and  more  portentous  ;  and  after  the  election 
of  President  Lincoln  the  lightning  of  hate  and  pas- 
sion began  to  strike  from  it  directly  at  the  nation's 
life.  The  old  major  was  both  wrong  and  right  in 
regard  to  the  most  prominent  leaders  of  the  day. 
Many  whom  he  deemed  the  worst  fanatics  in  the 
land  were  merely  exponents  of  a  public  opinion  that 
was  rising  like  an  irresistible  tide  from  causes  be- 
yond human  control, — from  the  God-created  con- 
science illumined  by  His  own  truth.  In  regard  to  the 
instigators  of  the  Rebellion,  he  was  right.  Instead 
of  representing  their  people,  they  deceived  and  mis- 


THE  CLOUD  IN  THE   SOUTH.  169 

led  them;  and,  with  an  astute  understanding  of  the 
chivalrous,  hasty  Southern  temper,  they  so  wrought 
upon  their  pride  of  section  by  the  false  presentation 
of  fancied  and  prospective  wrongs,  that  loyalty  to 
the  old  flag,  which  at  heart  they  loved,  was  swept 
away  by  the  madness  which  precedes  destruction. 
Above  all  and  directing  all  was  the  God  of  nations  ; 
and  He  had  decreed  that  slavery,  the  gangrene  in 
the  body  politic,  must  be  cut  out,  even  though  it 
should  be  with  the  sword.  The  surgery  was  heroic, 
indeed  ;  but  as  its  result  the  slave,  and  especially  the 
master  and  his  posterity,  will  grow  into  a  large, 
healthful,  and  prosperous  life  ;  and  the  evidences  of 
such  life  are  increasing  daily. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  however,  the 
future  was  not  dreamed  of  by  the  sagacious  Lincoln 
even,  or  his  cabinet,  much  less  was  it  foreseen  by 
the  humbler  characters  of  my  story.  Hilland  after 
reading  his  daily  journal  would  sit  silent  for  a  long 
time  with  contracted  brow.  The  white  heat  of 
anger  was  slowly  kindling  in  his  heart  and  in  that 
of  the  loyal  North  ;  and  the  cloud  in  the  South 
began  to  throw  its  shadow  over  the  hearth  of  the 
happy  wife. 

Although  Hilland  hated  slavery,  it  incensed  him 
beyond  measure  that  the  South  could  be  made  to 
believe  that  the  North  would  break  through  or  in- 
fringe upon  the  constitutional  safeguards  thrown 
around  the  institution.  At  the  same  time  he  knew, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  every  intelligent  man  should 
understand,  that  if  a  sufificient  majority  should  de- 
cide to  forbid  the  extension  of  the  slave  system  to 


lyo  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

new  territory,  that  should  end  the  question,  or  else 
the  constitution  was  not  worth  the  paper  on  which 
it  was  written.  "  Law  and  order,"  was  his  motto  ; 
and  "  All  changes  and  reforms  under  the  sanction 
of  law,  and  at  the  command  of  the  majority,"  his 
political  creed. 

The  major  held  the  Southern  view.  "  Slaves  are 
property,"  he  said  ;  "  and  the  government  is  bound 
to  permit  a  man  to  take  his  property  where  he 
pleases,  and  protect  him  in  all  his  rights."  The 
point  where  the  veteran  drew  the  line  was  in  disloy- 
alty to  the  flag  which  he  had  sworn  to  defend,  and 
for  which  he  had  become  a  cripple  for  life.  As  the 
Secession  spirit  became  more  rampant  and  open  in 
South  Carolina,  the  weight  of  his  invective  fell  more 
heavily  upon  the  leaders  there  than  upon  the  hitherto 
more  detested  abolitionists. 

When  he  read  the  address  of  Alexander  H.  Ste- 
phens, delivered  to  the  same  people  on  the  following 
evening,  wherein  that  remarkable  man  said,  "  My 
object  is  not  to  stir  up  strife,  but  to  allay  it  ;  not 
to  appeal  to  your  passions,  but  to  your  reason. 
Shall  the  people  of  the  South  secede  from  the 
Union  in  consequence  of  the  election  of  Mr.  Lin- 
coln ?  My  countrymen,  I  tell  you  frankly,  can- 
didly, and  earnestly,  that  I  do  not  think  they  ought. 
In  my  judgment  the  election  of  no  man,  constitu- 
tionally chosen,  is  sufficient  cause  for  any  State  to 
separate  from  the  Union.  It  ought  to  stand  by  and 
aid  still  in  maintaining  the  constitution  of  the 
country.  We  are  pledged  to  maintain  the  constitu- 
tion.    Many  of  us  are  sworn  to  support  it," — when 


THE  CLOUD  IN    THE    SOUTH.  171 

the  veteran  came  to  these  words,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  without  a  thought  of  his  crutch,  and  cried  in  a 
tone  with  which  he  would  order  a  charge,  "  There  is 
the  man  who  ought  to  be  President.  Read  that 
speech." 

Hilland  did  read  it  aloud,  and  then  said  thought- 
fully, "Yes;  if  the  leaders  on  both  sides  were  of 
the  stamp  of  Mr.  Stephens  and  would  stand  firm,  all 
questions  at  issue  could  be  settled  amicably  under 
the  constitution.  But  I  fear  the  passion  of  the 
South,  fired  by  the  unscrupulous  misrepresentations 
of  a  few  ambitious  men,  will  carry  the  Cotton  States 
into  such  violent  disloyalty  that  the  North  in  its  in- 
dignation will  give  them  a  lesson  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten." 

"  Well  !"  shouted  the  major,  "  if  they  ever  fire 
on  the  old  flag,  I'll  shoulder  my  crutch  and  march 
against  them  myself, — I  would,  by  Heaven,  though 
my  own  brother  fired  the  gun." 

Grace's  merry  laugh  rang  out — for  she  never  lost  a 
chance  to  throw  oil  on  the  troubled  waters — and  she 
cried,  "  Warren,  if  this  thing  goes  on,  you  and  papa 
will  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder." 

But  the  time  for  that  had  not  yet  come.  Indeed, 
there  would  ever  remain  wide  differences  of  opinion 
between  the  two  men.  The  major  believed  that  if 
Congress  conceded  promptly  all  that  the  slave 
power  demanded,  "  the  demagogues  of  the  South 
would  soon  be  without  occupation  ;"  while  Hilland 
asserted  that  the  whole  thing  originated  in  bluster 
to  frighten  the  North  into  submission,  and  that  the 
danger  was  that  the  unceasing   inflammatory  talk 


172  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

might  so  kindle  the  masses  that  they  would  believe 
the  lies,  daily  iterated,  and  pass  beyond  the  control 
of  their  leaders. 

When  at  last  South  Carolina  seceded,  and  it 
became  evident  that  other  States  would  follow,  the 
major  often  said  with  bitter  emphasis  that  the  North 
would  have  to  pay  dearly  for  its  sentiment  in  regard 
to  the  negro.  In  Hilland's  case  strong  exultation 
became  a  growing  element  in  his  anger,  for  he 
believed  that  slavery  was  destined  to  receive  heavier 
blows  from  the  mad  zeal  of  its  friends  than  North 
em  abolitionists  could  have  inflicted  in  a  cen- 
tury. 

"  If  the  South  casts  aside  constitutional  protec- 
tion," he  reasoned,  "  she  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. After  a  certain  point  is  passed,  the  North 
will  make  sharp,  quick  work  with  anything  that  in- 
terferes with  her  peace  and  prosperity." 

"  The  work  will  be  sharp  enough,  young  man," 
replied  the  major  testily  ;  "  but  don't  be  sure  about 
its  being  quick.  If  the  South  once  gets  to  fight- 
ing, I  know  her  people  well  enough  to  assure  you 
that  the  Republican  party  can  reach  its  ends  only 
through  seas  of  blood,  if  they  are  ever  attained." 

Hilland  made  no  reply, — he  never  contradicted  the 
old  gentleman, — but  he  wrote  Graham  a  rather 
strong  letter  intimating  that  it  was  time  for  Ameri- 
cans to  come  home. 

Graham  would  not  have  come,  however,  had  not 
Grace,  who  had  just  returned  from  Mrs.  Mayburn's 
cottage,  caused  a  postscript  to  be  added,  giving  the 
information  that  his  aunt  was  seriously  ill,  and  that 


THE  CLOUD   IN   THE    SOUTH.  173 

her  physician  thought  it  might  be  a  long  time  before 
she  recovered,  even  if  life  was  spared. 

This  decided  him  at  once  ;  and  as  he  thought  he 
might  never  see  his  kind  old  friend  again,  he  bitterly 
regretted  that  he  had  remained  away  so  long.  And 
yet  he  felt  he  could  scarcely  have  done  otherwise  ; 
for  in  bitter  disappointment  he  found  that  his  pas- 
sion, so  far  from  being  conquered,  had,  by  some  un- 
controllable law  of  his  nature,  simply  grown  with  time 
and  become  interwoven  with  every  fibre  of  his  nature. 
Hitherto  he  had  acted  on  the  principle  that  he  must 
and  would  conquer  it  ;  but  now  that  duty  called 
him  to  the  presence  of  the  one  whose  love  and  kind- 
ness formed  an  indisputable  claim  upon  him,  he  be- 
gan to  reason  that  further  absence  was  futile,  that  he 
might  as  well  go  back,  and — as  he  promised  his 
aunt — "  do  the  best  he  could." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Hilland's  broad  hint, 
that  in  the  coming  emergency  Americans  should  be 
at  home,  had  little  weight  with  him.  From  natural 
bent  he  had  ever  been  adverse  to  politics.  In  ac- 
cordance with  his  theory  of  evolution,  he  believed 
the  negro  was  better  off  in  his  present  condition 
than  he  could  be  in  any  other.  He  was  the  last 
man  to  cherish  an  enthusiasm  for  an  inferior  race.  In- 
deed, he  would  have  much  preferred  it  should  die  out 
altogether  and  make  room  for  better  m.aterial.  The 
truth  was  that  his  prolonged  residence  abroad  had 
made  the  questions  of  American  politics  exceedingly 
vague  and  inconsequential.  He  believed  them  to 
be  ephemeral  to  the  last  degree, — in  the  main,  mere 
struggles  of  parties    and  partisans  for  power  and 


174  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

spoils  ;  and  for  their  hopes,  schemes,  and  stratagems 
to  gain  temporary  success,  he  cared  nothing. 

He  had  not  been  an  idler  in  his  prolonged 
absence.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  striven  with  the 
whole  force  of  a  powerful  will  to  subdue  a  useless 
passion,  and  had  striven  in  vain.  He  had  not,  how- 
ever, yielded  for  a  day  to  a  dreamy  melancholy,  but, 
in  accordance  with  his  promise  "to  do  his  best,'* 
had  been  tireless  in  mental  and  physical  activity. 
The  tendency  to  wander  somewhat  aimlessly  had 
ceased,  and  he  had  adopted  the  plan  of  studying 
modern  life  at  the  old  centres  of  civilization  and 
power. 

Hilland's  letter  found  him  in  Egypt,  and  only  a 
few  weeks  had  elapsed  after  its  reception  when,  with 
deep  anxiety,  he  rang  the  bell  at  his  aunt's  cottage 
door.  He  had  not  stopped  to  cable  an  inquiry  in 
London,  for  he  had  learned  that  by  pushing  right  on 
he  could  catch  a  fast  out-going  steamer  and  save 
some  days. 

The  servant  who  admitted  him  uttered  a  cry  of 
joy  ;  and  a  moment  later  his  aunt  rose  feebly  from 
the  lounge  in  her  sitting-room,  and  greeted  him  as 
her  son. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PREPARATION. 

GRAHAM  learned  with  deep  satisfaction  that 
the  dangerous  symptoms  of  his  aunt's  illness 
had  passed  away,  and  that  she  was  now  well  ad- 
vanced in  convalescence.  They  gave  to  each  other 
an  hour  or  two  of  unreserved  confidence  ;  and  the 
old  lady's  eyes  filled  with  tears  more  than  once  as 
she  saw  how  vain  had  been  her  nephew's  struggle. 
It  was  equally  clear,  however,  that  he  had  gained 
strength  and  a  nobler  manhood  in  the  effort  ;  and  so 
she  told  him. 

"  If  supper  is  ready,"  he  replied,  "  I'll  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  in  very  fair  condition." 

An  hour  later  he  left  her,  cheerful  and  compara- 
tively happy,  for  the  St.  Johns'  cottage.  From  the 
piazza  he  saw  through  the  lighted  windows  a  home- 
scene  that  he  had  once  dreamed  might  bless  his  life. 
Hilland,  evidently,  was  reading  the  evening  paper 
aloud,  and  his  back  was  toward  his  friend.  The 
major  was  nervously  drumming  on  the  table  with  his 
fingers,  and  contracting  his  frosty  eyebrows,  as  if 
perturbed  by  the  news.  But  it  was  on  the  young 
wife    that    Graham's   eyes  dwelt   longest.     She   sat 


176  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

with  some  sewing  on  the  farther  side  of  the  open 
fire,  and  her  face  was  toward  him.  Had  she 
changed  ?  Yes ;  but  for  the  better.  The  slight 
matronly  air  and  fuller  form  that  had  come  with 
wifehood  became  her  better  than  even  her  girlish 
grace.  As  she  glanced  up  to  her  husband  from 
time  to  time,  Graham  saw  serene  loving  trust  and 
content. 

"  It  is  all  well  with  them,"  he  thought  ;  "  and  so 
may  it  ever  be." 

A  servant  who  was  passing  out  opened  the  door, 
and  thus  he  was  admitted  without  being  announced, 
for  he  cautioned  the  maid  to  say  nothing.  Then 
pushing  open  the  parlor  door  which  was  ajar,  he  en- 
tered, and  said  quietly,  "  I've  come  over  for  a  game 
of  whist." 

But  the  quietness  of  his  greeting  was  not  recipro- 
cated. All  rose  hastily,  even  to  the  major,  and 
stared  at  him.  Then  Hilland  half  crushed  the  prof- 
fered hand,  and  the  major  grasped  the  other,  and 
there  came  a  fire  of  exclamations  and  questions  that 
for  a  moment  or  two  left  no  space  for  answer. 

Grace  cried,  "  Come,  Warren,  give  Mr.  Graham  a 
chance  to  get  his  breath  and  shake  hands  with  me. 
I  propose  to  count  for  something  in  this  welcome.** 

"  Give  him  a  kiss,  sweetheart,"  said  her  delight- 
ed  husband. 

Grace  hesitated,  and  a  slight  flush  suffused  her 
face.  Graham  quickly  bent  over  her  hand,  which 
he  now  held,  and  kissed  it,  saying,  "  I've  been 
among  the  Orientals  so  long  that  I've  learned  some 
of  their  customs  of  paying  homage.     I  know  that 


PREPARATION.  177 

you  are  queen  here  as  of  old,  and  that  Hilland  is  by 
this  time  the  meekest  of  men." 

"  Indeed,  was  I  so  imperious  in  old  times?"  she 
asked,  as  he  threw  himself,  quite  at  home,  into  one 
of  the  easy-chairs. 

"  You  are  of  those  who  are  born  to  rule.  You 
have  a  way  of  your  own,  however,  which  some 
other  rulers  might  imitate  to  advantage." 

"  Well,  my  first  command  is  that  you  give  an  ac- 
count of  yourself.  So  extensive  a  traveller  never 
sat  down  at  our  quiet  fireside  before.  Open  your 
budget  of  wonders.  Only  remember  we  have  some 
slight  acquaintance  with  Baron  Munchausen." 

"  The  real  wonders  of  the  world  are  more  wonder- 
ful than  his  inventions.  Beyond  that  I  hastened 
home  by  the  shortest  possible  route  after  receiving 
Hilland's  letter,  I  have  little  to  say." 

"  I  thought  my  letter  would  stir  you  up." 

"  In  sincerity,  I  must  say  it  did  not.  The  post- 
script did,  however." 

"  Then,  in  a  certain  sense,  it  was  I  who  brought 
you  home,  Mr.  Graham,"  said  Grace.  "  I  had  just 
returned  from  a  call  on  Mrs.  Mayburn,  and  I  made 
Warren  open  the  letter  and  add  the  postscript.  I 
assure  you  we  were  exceedingly  anxious  about  her 
for  weeks." 

"  And  from  what  she  has  told  me  I  am  almost  con- 
vinced that  she  owes  her  life  more  to  you  than  to  her 
physician.  Drugs  go  but  a  little  way,  especially  at 
her  time  of  life  ;  but  the  delicacies  and  nourishing 
food  you  saw  she  was  provided  with  so  regularly 
rallied  her  strength.     Yes  ;   it  was  your  postscript 


17  a  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

that  led  to  my  immediate  return,  and  not  Hilland's 
political  blast." 

"  Why,  Graham  !  Don't  you  reaHze  what's  going 
on  here  ?" 

"  Not  very  seriously." 

"  You  may  have  to  fight,  old  fellow." 

"I've  no  objections  after  I  have  decided  which 
side  to  take." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Graham  !  you  will  be  mobbed 
if  you  talk  that  way  here  in  New  England.  This 
comes  of  a  man's  living  abroad  so  much  that  he 
loses  all  love  for  his  native  land." 

"  Squabbling  politicians  are  not  one's  native  land. 
I  am  not  a  hater  of  slavery  as  you  are  ;  and  if  it 
produces  types  of  men  and  women  like  that  Southern 
lady  of  whom  I  told  you,  it  must  be  an  excellent  in- 
stitution." 

"O  yes,"  cried  Hilland,  laughing.  "By  the 
way,  Grace,  my  cool,  cynical  friend  was  once  madly 
in  love — love  at  first  sight,  too — and  with  a  lady  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother.  I  never  heard  a  woman's 
character  sketched  more  tenderly  ;  and  his  climax 
was  that  your  mother  must  have  closely  resembled 
her." 

"  Mr.  Graham  is  right,"  said  the  major  impres- 
sively. "  The  South  produces  the  finest  women  in 
the  world  ;  and  when  the  North  comes  to  meet  its 
men,  as  I  fear  it  must,  it  will  find  they  are  their 
mothers'  sons." 

Poor  Warren  ! ' '  cried  Grace  ;  ' '  here  are  all  three 
of  us  against  you, — all  pro-slavery  and  Southern  in 
our  sympathies." 


PREPARA  TIOM.  1 7  9 

"  I  admit  at  once  that  the  South  has  produced  the 
finest  woman  in  the  world,"  said  Hilland,  taking  his 
wife's  hand.  "But  I  must  add  that  many  of  her 
present  productions  are  not  at  all  to  my  taste  ;  nor 
will  they  be  to  yours,  Graham,  after  you  have  been 
here  long  enough  to  understand  what  is  going  on, — 
that  is,  if  anything  at  home  can  enlist  your  interest." 

"I  assure  you  I  am  deeply  interested.  It's  ex- 
hilarating to  breathe  American  air  now,  especially 
so  after  just  coming  from  regions  where  everything 
has  been  dead  for  centuries — for  the  people  living 
there  now  are  scarcely  alive.  Of  course  I  obtained 
from  the  papers  in  Egypt  very  vague  ideas  of  what 
was  going  on  ;  and  after  receiving  your  letter  my 
mind  was  too  preoccupied  with  my  aunt's  illness  to 
dwell  on  much  besides.  If  the  flag  which  gave  me 
protection  abroad,  and  under  which  I  was  born,  is 
assailed,  I  shall  certainly  fight  for  it,  even  though  I 
may  not  be  in  sympathy  with  the  causes  which  led 
to  the  quarrel.  What  I  said  about  being  undecided 
as  to  which  side  I  would  take  was  a  half-jocular  way 
of  admitting  that  I  need  a  great  deal  of  information  ; 
and  between  you  and  the  major  I  am  in  a  fair  way  to 
hear  both  sides.  I  cannot  believe,  however,  that  a 
civil  war  will  break  out  in  this  land  of  all  others.  The 
very  idea  seems  preposterous,  and  I  am  not  beyond 
the  belief  that  the  whole  thing  is  political  excite- 
ment. I  have  learned  this  much,  that  the  old  teach- 
ings of  Calhoun  have  bornetheir  legitimate  fruit,  and 
that  the  Cotton  States  by  some  hocus-pocus  legisla- 
tion declare  themselves  out  of  the  Union.  But  then 
the  rational,  and  to  my  mind  inevitable  course  will  be. 


l8o  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

that  the  representative  men  of  both  sides  will  realize 
at  last  to  what  straits  their  partisanship  is  bringing 
them,  and  so  come  together  and  adjust  their  real 
or  fancied  grievances.  Meanwhile,  the  excitement 
will  die  out  ;  and  a  good  many  will  have  a  dim  con- 
sciousness that  they  have  made  fools  of  themselves, 
and  go  quietly  about  their  own  business  the  rest  of 
their  days." 

"  Graham,  you  don't  know  anything  about  the 
true  state  of  affairs,"  said  Hilland  ;  and  before  the 
evening  was  over  he  proved  his  words  true  to  his 
friend,  who  listened  attentively  to  the  history  of  his 
native  land  for  the  past  few  months.  In  conclusion, 
Hilland  said,  "At  one  time — not  very  long  ago, 
either — I  held  your  opinion  that  it  was  the  old  game 
of  bluster  and  threatening  on  the  part  of  Southern 
politicians.  But  they  are  going  too  far  ;  they  have 
already  gone  too  far.  In  seizing  the  United  States 
forts  and  other  property,  they  have  practically  waged 
war  against  the  government.  My  opinions  have 
changed  from  week  to  week  under  the  stern  logic  of 
events,  and  I  now  beheve  that  the  leading  spirits  in 
the  South  mean  actual  and  final  separation.  I've  no 
doubt  that  they  hope  to  effect  their  purpose  peace- 
ably, and  that  the  whole  thing  will  soon  be  a  matter 
of  diplomacy  between  two  distinct  governments. 
But  they  are  preparing  for  war,  and  they  will  have 
it,  too,  to  their  hearts'  content.  President  Buchan- 
an is  a  muff.  He  sits  and  wrings  his  hands  like  an 
old  woman,  and  declares  he  can  do  nothing.  But 
the  new  administration  will  soon  be  in  power,  and  it 
will  voice  the  demand  of  the  North  that  this  non- 


PREPARA  TION.  l8l 

sense  be  stopped  ;  and  if  no  heed  is  given,  it  will 
stop  it  briefly,  decisively." 

"My  son  Warren,"  said  the  major,  "you  told 
your  friend  some  time  since  that  he  knew  nothing 
about  this  affair.  You  must  permit  me  to  say  the 
same  to  you.  I  fear  that  both  sides  have  gone  too 
far,  much  too  far  ;  and  what  the  end  will  be,  and 
when  it  will  come,  God  only  knows." 

Before  many  weeks  passed  Graham  shared  the 
same  view. 

Events  crowded  upon  each  other  ;  pages  of  his- 
tory were  made  daily,  and  often  hourly.  In  every 
home,  as  well  as  in  the  cottages  wherein  dwelt  the 
people  of  my  story,  the  daily  journals  were  snatched 
and  read  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  Many 
were  stern  and  exultant  like  Hilland  ;  more  were 
dazed  and  perplexed,  feeling  that  something  ought 
to  be  done  to  stem  the  torrent,  and  at  the  same  time 
were  astonished  and  troubled  to  find  that  perhaps  a 
next-door  neighbor  sympathized  with  the  rebellion 
and  predicted  its  entire  success.  The  social  atmos- 
phere was  thick  with  doubt,  heavy  with  despond- 
ency, and  often  lurid  with  anger. 

Graham  became  a  curious  study  to  both  Grace 
and  his  aunt  ;  and  sometimes  his  friend  and  the 
major  were  inclined  to  get  out  of  patience  with 
him.  He  grew  reticent  on  the  subject  concerning 
which  all  were  talking,  but  he  read  with  avidity, 
not  only  the  history  of  the  day,  but  of  the  past  as 
it  related  to  the  questions  at  issue. 

One  of  his  earliest  acts  had  been  the  purchase  of 
a  horse  noted  in  town  as  being  so  powerful,  spirited. 


1 82  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

and  even  vicious,  that  few  dared  to  drive  or  ride 
him.  He  had  finally  brought  his  ill-repute  to  a  cli- 
max by  running  away,  wrecking  the  carriage,  and 
breaking  his  owner's  ribs.  He  had  since  stood 
fuming  in  idleness  ;  and  when  Graham  wished  him 
brought  to  the  unused  stable  behind  his  aunt's  cot- 
tage, no  one  would  risk  the  danger.  Then  the 
young  man  went  after  the  horse  himself. 

"  I've  only  one  man  in  my  employ  who  dares  clean 
and  take  care  of  him,"  remarked  the  proprietor  of 
the  livery-stable  where  he  was  kept  ;  "  and  he  de- 
clares that  he  won't  risk  his  life  much  longer  unless 
the  brute  is  used  and  tamed  down  somewhat. 
There's  your  property,  and  I'd  like  to  have  it  re- 
moved as  soon  as  possible. 

"  I'll  remove  it  at  once,"  said  Graham,  quietly  ; 
and,  paying  no  heed  to  the  crowd  that  began  to 
gather,  when  it  was  bruited  that  **  Firebrand  " — for 
such  was  the  horse's  name — was  to  be  brought  out, 
he  took  a  bridle  and  went  into  the  stall,  first  speak- 
ing gently,  then  stroking  the  animal  with  an  assured 
touch.  The  horse  permitted  himself  to  be  bridled 
and  led  out  ;  but  there  was  an  evil  fire  in  his  eye, 
and  he  gave  more  than  one  ominous  snort  of  defi- 
ance. The  proprietor,  smitten  by  a  sudden  com- 
punction, rushed  forward  and  cried,  "  Look  here, 
sir  ;  you  are  taking  your  life  in  your  hand." 

"I  say,  Graham,"  cried  Hilland's  voice,  "what 
scrape  are  you  in,  that  you  have  drawn  such  a 
crowd  ?" 

"  No  scrape  at  all,"  said  Graham,  looking  around 
and  recognizing  his  friend  and  Grace  mounted  and 


PRE  PAR  A  TION.  183 

passing  homeward  from  their  ride.  "  I've  had  the 
presumption  to  think  that  you  would  permit  me  to 
join  you  occasionally,  and  so  have  bought  a  good 
horse.     Isn't  he  a  beauty?" 

"  What,  Firebrand  ?" 

"  That's  his  present  name.  I  shall  re-christen 
him," 

"  O,  come,  Graham  !  if  you  don't  value  your  neck, 
others  do.     You've  been  imposed  upon." 

'*  I've  warned  him — "  began  the  keeper  of  the 
livery-stable  ;  but  here  the  horse  reared  and  tried  to 
break  from  Graham's  grasp. 

"  Clear  the  way,"  the  young  man  cried  ;  and  as 
the  brute  came  down  he  seized  his  mane  and  vaulted 
upon  his  bare  back.  The  action  was  so  sudden  and 
evidently  so  unexpected  that  the  horse  stood  still  and 
quivered  for  a  moment,  then  gave  a  few  prodigious 
bounds  ;  but  the  rider  kept  his  seat  so  perfectly  that 
he  seemed  a  part  of  the  horse.  The  beast  next  be- 
gan to  rear,  and  at  one  time  it  seemed  as  if  he  would 
fall  over  backward,  and  his  master  sprang  lightly  to 
the  ground.  But  the  horse  was  scarcely  on  all  fours 
before  Graham  was  on  his  back  again.  The  brute 
had  the  bit  in  his  teeth,  and  paid  no  attention  to  it. 
Graham  now  drew  a  flexible  rawhide  from  his 
pocket,  and  gave  his  steed  a  severe  cut  across  the 
flanks.  The  result  was  another  bound  into  the  air, 
such  as  experts  present  declared  was  never  seen 
before  ;  and  then  the  enraged  animal  sped  away  at 
a  tremendous  pace.  There  was  a  shout  of  ap- 
plause ;  and  Hilland  and  Grace  galloped  after,  but 
soon   lost  sight  of   Graham.     Two   hours  later  he 


t84  his  sombre  RIVALS. 

trotted  quietly  up  to  their  door,  his  coal-black  horse 
white  with  foam,  quivering  in  every  muscle,  but 
perfectly  subdued, 

"  I  merely  wished  to  assure  you  that  my  neck  was 
safe,  and  that  I  have  a  horse  fit  to  go  to  the  war  that 
you  predict  so  confidently,"  he  said  to  Hilland,  who 
with  Grace  rushed  out  on  the  piazza. 

"  I  say,  Graham,  where  did  you  learn  to  ride?" 
asked  his  friend. 

"  O,  the  horses  were  nobler  animals  than  the  men 
in  some  of  the  lands  where  I  have  been,  and  I  stud- 
ied them.  This  creature  will  be  a  faithful  friend  in 
a  short  time.  You  have  no  idea  how  much  intelli- 
gence such  a  horse  as  this  has  if  he  is  treated  intelli- 
gently. I  don't  believe  he  has  ever  known  genuine 
kindness.  I'll  guarantee  that  I  can  fire  a  pistol 
between  his  ears  within  two  weeks,  and  that  he  won't 
flinch.  Good-by.  I  shall  be  my  own  hostler  for  a 
short  time,  and  must  work  an  hour  over  him  after 
the  run  he's  had." 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Hilland,  as  he  passed  into  the 
house  with  his  wife,  "  I  admit  that  Graham  has 
changed.  He  was  always  great  on  tramps,  but  I 
never  knew  him  to  care  for  a  horse  before." 

Grace  felt  that  he  had  changed  ever  since  he  had 
leaned  for  support  against  the  apple-tree  by  which 
he  was  now  passing  down  the  frozen  walk,  but  she 
only  said,  "  I  never  saw  such  superb  horseman- 
ship." 

She  had  not  thought  Graham  exactly  fine-looking 
in  former  days  ;  but  in  his  absence  his  slight  figure 
had  filled  out,  and  his  every  movement  was  instinct 


PREPARA  TION.  1S5 

with  reserved  force.  The  experiences  through 
which  he  had  passed  removed  him,  as  she  was  con- 
scious, beyond  the  sphere  of  ordinary  men.  Even 
his  marked  reticence  about  himself  and  his  views 
was  stimulating  to  the  imagination.  Whether  he  had 
conquered  his  old  regard  for  her  she  could  not  tell. 
He  certainly  no  longer  avoided  her,  and  he  treat- 
ed her  wuth  the  frank  courtesy  he  would  naturally 
extend  to  his  friend's  wife.  But  he  spent  far  more 
time  with  his  aunt  than  with  them  ;  and  it  became 
daily  more  and  more  evident  that  he  accepted  the 
major's  view,  and  was  preparing  for  what  he 
believed  would  be  a  long  and  doubtful  conflict. 
Since  it  must  come,  he  welcomed  the  inevitable,  for 
in  his  condition  of  mind  it  was  essential  that  he 
should  be  intensely  occupied.  Although  his  aunt 
had  to  admit  that  he  was  a  little  peculiar,  his  man- 
ner was  simple  and  quiet  ;  and  when  he  joined  his 
friends  on  their  drives  or  at  their  fireside,  he  was  usu- 
ally as  genial  as  they  could  desire,  and  his  tender- 
ness for  his  aunt  daily  increased  the  respect  which 
he  had  already  won  from  Grace. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

THE    CALL    TO    ARM  S. 

ON  the  4th  of  March,  1861,  was  inaugurated 
as  President  the  best  friend  the  South  ever 
had.  He  Avould  never  have  deceived  or  misled  her. 
In  all  the  bloody  struggle  that  followed,  although 
hated,  scoffed  at,  and  maligned  as  the  vilest  monster 
of  earth,  he  never  by  word  or  act  manifested  a  vin- 
dictive spirit  toward  her.  Firm  and  sagacious,  Lin- 
coln would  have  protected  the  South  in  her  consti- 
tutional rights,  though  every  man  at  the  North  had 
become  an  abolitionist.  Slavery,  however,  had  long 
been  doomed,  like  other  relics  of  barbarism,  by  the 
spirit  of  the  age  ;  and  his  wisdom  and  that  of  men 
like  him,  with  the  logic  of  events  and  the  irresistible 
force  of  the  world's  opinion,  would  have  found 
some  peaceful,  gradual  remedy  for  an  evil  which 
wrought  even  more  injury  to  the  master  than  to  the 
bondman.  In  his  inaugural  address  he  repeated  that 
he  had  "  no  purpose,  directly  or  indirectly,  to  inter- 
fere with  slavery  in  the  States  where  it  existed." 

An  unanswerable  argument  against  disunion,  and 
an  earnest  appeal  to  reason  and  lawful  remedy,  he 
followed  by  a  most  impressive  declaration  of  peace 


THE   CALL    TO  ARMS.  187 

and  good-will  : ."  In  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fel- 
low-countrymen, and  not  mine,  is  the  momentous  is- 
sue of  civil  war.  The  government  will  not  assail  you. 
You  can  have  no  conflict  without  being  yourselves 
the  aggressors.  You  have  no  oath  registered  in 
heaven  to  destroy  the  government  ;  while  I  shall 
have  the  most  solemn  one  to  preserve,  protect,  and 
defend  it." 

These  were  noble  words,  and  to  all  minds  not 
confused  by  the  turmoil,  passion,  and  prejudices  of 
the  hour,  they  presented  the  issue  squarely.  If  the 
leaders  of  the  South  desired  peaceful  negotiation, 
the  way  was  opened,  the  opportunity  offered  ;  if 
they  were  resolved  on  the  destruction  of  the  Union, 
Lincoln's  oath  meant  countless  men  and  countless 
treasure  to  defend  it. 

Men  almost  held  their  breath  in  suspense.  The 
air  became  thick  with  rumors  of  compromise  and 
peace.  Even  late  in  March,  Mr.  Seward,  the  Presi- 
dent's chief  adviser,  "  believed  and  argued  that  the 
revolution  throughout  the  South  had  spent  its  force 
and  was  on  the  wane  ;  and  that  the  evacuation  of 
Sumter  and  the  manifestation  of  kindness  and  con- 
fidence to  the  Rebel  and  Border  States  would  under- 
mine the  conspiracy,  strengthen  the  Union  senti- 
ment and  Union  majorities,  and  restore  allegiance 
and  healthy  political  action  without  resort  to  civil 
war. ' ' 

To  Graham,  who,  in  common  with  millions  in 
their  homes,  was  studying  the  problem,  this  course 
seemed  so  rational  and  so  advantageous  to  all  con- 
cerned, that  he   accepted   it   as  the   outline   of   the 


1 88  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

future.  The  old  major  shoolc  his  head  and  growled, 
"You  don't  know  the  South;  it's  too  late;  their 
blood  is  up." 

Hilland  added  exultantly,  "  Neither  do  you  know 
the  North,  Graham.  There  will  come  a  tidal  wave 
soon  that  will  carry  Mr.  Seward  and  the  hesitating- 
President  to  the  boundaries  of  Mexico." 

The  President  was  not  hesitating,  in  the  weak 
sense  of  the  word.  Equally  removed  from  Mr. 
Buchanan's  timidity  and  Mr.  Seward's  optimistic 
confidence,  he  was  feeling  his  way,  gathering  the 
reins  into  his  hands,  and  seeking  to  comprehend  an 
issue  then  too  obscure  and  vast  for  mortal  mind 
to  grasp.  What  is  plain  to-day  was  not  plain 
then. 

It  speedily  became  evident,  however,  that  all 
talk  of  compromise  on  the  part  of  the  Southern 
leaders  was  deceptive, — that  they  were  relentlessly 
pursuing  the  course  marked  out  from  the  first,  hop- 
ing, undoubtedly,  that  the  government  would  be 
paralyzed  by  their  allies  at  the  North,  and  that  their 
purposes  would  be  effected  by  negotiation  and  for- 
eign intervention. 

And  so  the  skies  grew  darker  and  the  political 
and  social  atmosphere  so  thick  with  doubt  and  dis- 
cordant counsels  that  the  horizon  narrowed  about 
even  those  on  the  mountain-top  of  power.  All 
breathed  heavily  and  felt  the  oppression  that  pre- 
cedes some  convulsion  of  nature. 

At  length,  on  the  morning  of  the  I2th  of  April, 
as  the  darkness  which  foreruns  the  dawn  was  lifting 
from  Charleston  Harbor,  and  Sumter  lay  like  a  shad- 


THE  CALL   TO  ARMS.  189 

ow  on  the  waves,  a  gun  was  fired  whose  echoes  re- 
peated themselves  around  the  world.  They  were 
heard  in  every  home  North  and  South,  and  their 
meaning  was  unmistakable.  The  flash  of  that  mor- 
tar gun  and  of  the  others  that  followed  was  as  the 
lightning  burning  its  way  across  the  vault  of  heaven, 
revealing  everything  with  intense  vividness,  and 
rending  and  consuming  all  noxious  vapors.  The 
clouds  rolled  speedily  away,  and  from  the  North 
came  the  sound  of  "  a  rushing,  mighty  wind." 

The  crisis  and  the  leader  came  together.  The 
news  reached  Washington  on  Saturday.  On  Sun- 
day Mr.  Lincoln  drafted  his  memorable  call  to 
arms,  and  on  Monday  it  was  telegraphed  through- 
out the  land.  The  response  to  that  call  forms  one 
of  the  sublimest  chapters  of  history. 

In  the  St.  John  cottage,  as  in  nearly  all  other 
homes,  differences  of  opinion  on  minor  questions 
melted  into  nothingness. 

Graham  read  the  electric  words  aloud,  and  his 
friend's  only  excited  comment  was  : 

"  Graham,  you  will  go." 

"  Not  yet,"  was  the  quiet  response  ;  "  and  I  sin- 
cerely hope  you  will  not." 

"  How  can  a  man  do  otherwise?" 

"  Because  he  is  a  man,  and  not  an  infuriated  ani- 
mal. I've  been  very  chary  in  giving  my  opinion  on 
this  subject,  as  you  know.  You  also  know  that  I 
have  read  and  thought  about  it  almost  constantly 
since  my  return.  I  share  fully  in  Major  St.  John's 
views  that  this  affair  is  not  to  be  settled  by  a  mad  rush 
southward  of  undisciplined  Northern  men.      I  have 


19©  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

traced  the  history  of  Southern  regiments  and  officers 
in  the  Revolution  and  in  our  later  wars,  and  I  assure 
you  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  gigantic  conflict. 
In  that  degree  that  we  believe  the  government 
right,  we,  as  rational  men,  should  seek  to  render  it 
effective  service.  The  government  does  not  need  a 
mob  :  it  needs  soldiers,  and  such  are  neither  you 
nor  I.  I  have  informed  myself  somewhat  on  the 
militia  system  of  the  country,  and  there  are  plenty 
of  organized  regiments  of  somewhat  disciplined  men 
who  can  go  at  an  hour's  notice.  If  you  went  now, 
you — a  millionnaire — would  not  count  for  as  much  as 
an  Irishman  who  had  spent  a  few  months  in  a  drill- 
room.  The  time  may  come  when  you  can  equip  a 
regiment  if  you  choose.  Moreover,  you  have  a  con- 
trolling voice  in  large  business  interests  ;  and  this 
struggle  is  doomed  from  the  start  if  not  sustained 
financially." 

"  Mr.  Graham  is  right,"  said  Grace,  emphatically. 
"  Even  my  woman's  reason  makes  so  much  clear  to 
me." 

"Your  woman's  reason  would  serve  most  men 
better  than  their  own,"  was  his  smiling  reply. 
Then,  as  he  looked  into  her  lovely  face,  pale  at  the 
bare  thought  that  her  husband  was  going  into  danger, 
he  placed  his  hand  on  Hilland's  shoulder  and  contin- 
ued, "  Warren,  there  are  other  sacred  claims  besides 
those  of  patriotism.  The  cause  should  grow  des- 
perate indeed  before  you  leave  that  wife." 

"  Mr.  Graham,"  Grace  began,  with  an  indignant 
flush  mantling  the  face  that  had  been  so  pale,  *'  I 
am  a  soldier's  daughter  ;  and  if  Warren  believed  it 


THE   CALL    TO  ARMS.  191 

to  be  his  duty — "  Then  she  faltered,  and  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears,  as  she  moaned,  "  O  God  ! 
it's — it's  true.  The  bullet  that  struck  him  would 
inflict  a  deadlier  wound  on  me  ;"  and  she  hid  her 
face  on  Hilland's  breast  and  sobbed  piteously. 

"It  is  also  true,"  said  Graham,  in  tones  that 
were  as  grave  and  solemn  as  they  were  gentle, 
"  that  your  father's  spirit — nay,  your  own — would 
control  you.  Under  its  influence  you  might  not 
only  permit  but  urge  your  husband's  departure, 
though  your  heart  broke  a  thousand  times.  There- 
fore, Hilland,  I  appeal  to  your  manhood.  You 
would  be  unworthy  of  yourself  and  of  this  true 
woman  were  you  guided  by  passion  or  excitement. 
As  a  loyal  man  you  are  bound  to  render  your 
country  your  best  service.  To  rush  to  the  fray  now 
would  be  the  poorest  aid  you  could  give." 

"  Graham  talks  sense,"  said  the  major,  speaking 
with  the  authority  of  a  veteran.  "  If  I  had  to  meet 
the  enemy  at  once,  I'd  rather  have  a  regiment  of 
canaille,  and  cowards  at  that,  who  could  obey  orders 
like  a  machine,  than  one  of  hot-headed  millionnaires 
who  might  not  understand  the  command  '  Halt  !' 
Mr.  Graham  is  right  again  when  he  says  that  Grace 
will  not  prevent  a  man  from  doing  his  duty  any 
more  than  her  mother  did." 

"  What  do  j(?z^  propose  to  do?"  asked  Hilland, 
breathing  heavily.  It  was  evident  that  a  tremendous 
struggle  was  going  on  in  his  breast,  for  it  had  been 
his  daily  and  nightly  dream  to  join  the  grand  onset 
that  should  sweep  slavery  and  rebellion  out  of  exist- 


192  HTS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  Simply  what  I  advise, — watch,  wait,  and  act 
when  I  can  be  of  the  most  service." 

"  I  yield,"  said  Hilland,  slowly,  "  for  I  suppose 
you  are  right.  You  all  know  well,  and  you  best  of 
all,  sweetheart," — taking  his  wife's  face  in  his  hands 
and  looking  down  into  her  tearful  eyes, — "  that  here 
is  the  treasure  of  my  life.  But  you  also  know  that 
in  all  the  past  there  have  come  times  when  a  man 
must  give  up  everything  at  the  need  of  his  country." 

"  And  when  that  time  comes,"  sobbed  his  wife, 
"  I— I — will  not — "  But  she  could  not  finish  the 
sentence. 

Graham  stole  away,  awed,  and  yet  with  a  peace 
in  his  heart  that  he  had  not  known  for  years.  He 
had  saved  his  friend  from  the  first  wild  meUe  of  the 
war, — the  war  that  promised  rest  and  nothingness  to 
him,  even  while  he  kept  his  promise  to"  live  and  do 
his  best." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   BLOOD-RED   SKY. 

DAYS  and  weeks  of  intense  excitement  followed 
the  terrific  Union  losses  which  at  one  time 
threatened  the  loss  of  the  national  capital ;  and  the 
North  began  to  put  forth  the  power  of  which  it  was 
only  half-conscious,  like  a  giant  taken  unawares  ;  for 
to  all, except  men  of  Hilland's  hopeful  confidence,  it 
soon  became  evident  that  the  opponent  was  a  giant 
also.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dwell  upon  this, 
however,  except  as  it  influenced  the  actors  of  my 
story. 

Hilland,  having  given  up  his  plans,  was  content- 
edly carrying  out  the  line  of  action  suggested  by 
his  friend.  By  all  the  means  within  his  power  he 
was  furthering  the  Union  cause,  and  learned  from 
experience  how  much  more  he  could  accomplish  as 
a  business  man,  than  by  shouldering  a  musket,  or 
misleading  a  regiment  in  his  ignorance.  He  made 
frequent  trips  to  New  York,  and  occasionally  went 
to  Washington.  Graham  often  accompanied  him, 
and  also  came  and  went  on  affairs  of  his  own.  Os- 
tensibly he  was  acting  as  correspondent  for  the 
journal  to  which  he  had  written  when  abroad.     In 


194  ff^S  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

reality,  he  was  studying  the  great  drama  with  an 
interest  that  was  not  wholly  patriotic  or  scientific. 
He  had  found  an  antidote.  The  war,  dreaded  so 
unspeakably  by  many,  was  a  boon  to  him  ;  and  the 
fierce  excitement  of  the  hour  a  counter-irritant  to 
the  pain  at  heart  which  he  believed  had  become  his 
life-long  heritage. 

He  had  feared  the  sorrowful  reproaches  of  his 
aunt,  as  he  gave  himself  almost  wholly  up  to  its  in- 
fluences, and  became  an  actor  in  the  great  struggle. 
In  this  he  was  agreeably  mistaken,  for  the  spirited 
old  lady,  while  averse  to  politics  as  such,  had  be- 
come scarcely  less  belligerent  than  the  major  since 
the  fall  of  Sumter.  She  cheerfully  let  him  come 
and  go  at  his  will  ;  and  in  his  loving  gratitude  it 
must  be  admitted  that  his  letters  to  her  were  more 
frequent  and  interesting  than  those  to  the  journal 
whose  badge  was  his  passport  to  all  parts  of  our 
lines.  He  spent  every  hour  he  could  with  her,  also  ; 
and  she  saw  with  pleasure  that  his  activity  did  him 
good.  Grace  thought  he  found  few  opportunities 
to  pass  an  evening  with  them.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly grateful, — first,  that  he  had  interpreted  her  so 
nobly,  but  chiefly  because  it  was  his  influence  and 
reasoning  that  had  led  her  husband  into  his  present 
large,  useful,  happy  action  ;  and  she  could  not  help 
showing  it. 

His  position  of  correspondent  gave  him  far  better 
opportunities  for  observation  than  he  could  have  had 
in  any  arm  of  the  service.  Of  late  he  was  following 
the  command  of  General  Patterson,  believing  from  his 
sanguinary  vaporing  that  he  would  see  in  his  army  the 


THE  BLOOD-RED   SKY. 


95 


first  real  work  of  the  war.'^  He  soon  became  con- 
vinced, however,  that  the  veteran  of  the  Mexican 
war,  Hke  the  renowned  King  of  France,  would  march 
his  "twenty  thousand  men"  up  the  hill  only  to 
march  them  down  again.  Hearing  that  McDowell 
proposed  to  move  against  the  enemy  at  Manassas, 
he  hastily  repaired  to  Washington,  hoping  to  find  a 
general  that  dared  to  come  within  cannon-range  of 
the  foe. 

A  sultry  day  late  in  the  month  of  July  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  Hilland  and  his  wife,  with  Mrs.  May- 
burn,  were  seated  under  the  apple-tree,  at  which 
point  the  walks  intersected  with  the  main  one  lead- 
ing to  the  street.  The  young  man,  with  a  heavy 
frown,  was  reading  from  an  "  extra"  a  lurid  outline  of 
General  McDowell's  overwhelming  defeat  and  the 
mad  panic  that  ensued.  Grace  was  listening  with 
deep  solicitude,  her  work  lying  idle  in  her  lap.  It 
had  been  a  long,  hard  day  for  her.  Of  late  her  father 
had  been  deeply  excited,  and  now  was  sleeping  from 
sheer  reaction.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  looking  as  grim  as 
fate,  sat  bolt  upright  and  knitted  furiously.  One 
felt  instinctively  that  in  no  emergency  of  life  could 
she  give  way  to  a  panic. 

"Well,"  cried  Hilland,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
dashing  the  paper  to  the  ground  with  something  like 
an  oath,  "one  battle  has  been  fought  in  America 
at  which  I  thank  the  immortal  gods  I  was  not  pres- 
ent.     Why  did  not  McDowell  drive  a  flock  of  sheep 

*  Patterson  wrote  to  the  Secretary  of  War:  "You  have  the 
means  ;  place  them  at  my  disposal,  and  shoot  me  if  I  do  not  use 
them  to  advantage." 


19^  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

against  the  enemy,  and  furnfeh  his  division  com- 
manders with  shepherds'  crooks  ?  O,  the  burning, 
indelible  disgrace  of  it  all  !  And  yet — and  the  pos- 
sibility of  it  makes  me  feel  that  I  would  destroy  my- 
self had  it  happened — I  might  have  run  like  the 
blackest  sheep  of  them  all.  I  once  read  up  a  little 
on  the  subject  of  panics  ;  and  there's  a  mysterious, 
awful  contagion  about  them  impossible  to  compre- 
hend. These  men  were  Americans  ;  they  had  been 
fighting  bravely  ;  what  the  devil  got  into  them  that 
they  had  to  destroy  themselves  and  everything  in  an 
insane  rush  for  life  ?" 

"O  Warren,  see  the  sky!"  cried  his  wife,  the 
deep  solicitude  of  her  expression  giving  place  to  a 
look  of  awe. 

They  all  turned  to  the  west,  and  saw  a  sunset, 
that  from  the  excitable  condition  of  their  minds, 
seemed  to  reflect  the  scenes  recently  enacted,  and  to 
portend  those  in  prospect  now  for  years  to  come. 
Lines  of  light  and  broken  columns  of  cloud  had 
ranged  themselves  across  the  western  arch  of  the 
sky,  and  almost  from  the  horizon  to  the  zenith  they 
were  blood-red.  So  deep,  uniform,  and  ensanguined 
was  the  crimson,  that  the  sense  of  beauty  was  sub- 
ordinated to  the  thought  of  the  national  tragedy  re- 
flected in  the  heavens.  Hilland's  face  grew  stern  as 
he  looked,  and  Grace  hid  hers  on  his  breast. 

After  a  moment,  he  said  lightly,  "  What  super- 
stitious fools  we  are  !  It's  all  an  accidental  effect  of 
light  and  cloud." 

A  cry  from  Mrs.  Mayburn  caused  them  to  turn 
hastily,  and  they  saw  her  rushing  down  the  path  to 


THE  BLOOD-RED   SKY.  I97 

the  street  entrance.  Two  men  were  helping  some 
one  from  a  carriage.  As  their  obscuring  forms  stood 
aside,  Graham  was  seen  balancing  himself  on 
crutches. 

Hilland  placed  his  wife  hastily  but  tenderly  on  the 
seat,  and  was  at  the  gateway  in  almost  a  single 
bound. 

"  You  had  better  let  us  carry  you,"  Grace  heard 
one  of  the  men  say  in  gruff  kindness. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  was  the  hearty  reply.  "  I  have  not 
retreated  thus  far  so  masterfully  only  to  give  my 
aunt  the  hysterics  at  last." 

"  Alford,"  said  his  aunt,  sternly,  "  if  it's  wise  for 
you  to  be  carried,  be  carried.  Any  man  here  is  as 
liable  to  hysterics  as  I  am." 

"  Graham,  what  does  this  mean  ?"  cried  his  friend, 
in  deep  excitement.  "  You  look  as  if  half  cut  to 
pieces." 

"  It's  chiefly  my  clothes  ;  I  am  a  fitter  subject  for 
a  tailor  than  for  a  surgeon.  Come,  good  people,  there 
is  no  occasion  for  melodrama.  With  aunty's  care  I 
shall  soon 'be  as  sound  as  ever.  Very  well,  carry 
me,  then.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  use  my  arm  yet  ;" 
for  Hilland,  taking  in  his  friend's  disabled  condition 
more  fully,  was  about  to  lift  him  in  his  arms  with- 
out permission  or  apology.  It  ended  in  his  making 
what  is  termed  a  "  chair"  with  one  of  the  men,  and 
Graham  was  borne  speedily  up  the  path. 

Grace  stood  at  the  intersection  with  hands  clasped 
in  the  deepest  anxiety  ;  but  Graham  smiled  reassur- 
ingly, as  he  said,  "  Isn't  this  an  heroic  style  of  re- 
turning  from  the   wars  ?      Not   quite   like   Walter 


198  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Scott's  knights  ;  but,  we've  fallen  on  prosaic  times. 
Don't  look  so  worried.  I  assure  you  I'm  not  seri- 
ously hurt." 

"  Mrs.  Mayburn,"  said  Hilland,  excitedly,  "  let  us 
take  him  to  our  cottage.  We  can  all  take  better 
care  of  him  there." 

"  Oh,  do  !  please  do  !"  echoed  Grace.  "  You  are 
alone  ;  and  Warren  and  I  could  do  so  much — " 

"  No,"  said  the  old  lady  quietly  and  decisively  ; 
for  the  moment  the  proposition  was  broached, 
Graham's  eyes  had  sought  hers  in  imperative  warn- 
ing. "  You  both  can  help  me  as  far  as  it  is  need- 
ful." 

Grace  detected  the  glance  and  noted  the  result,  but 
Hilland  began  impetuously,  "O  come,  dear  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  I  insist  upon  it.  Graham  is  making  light 
of  it  ;  but  I'm  sure  he'll  need  more  care  than  you 
realize — " 

*'  Hilland,  I  know  the  friendship  that  prompts 
your  wish,"  interrupted  Graham,  "  but  m.y  aunt  is 
right.  I  shall  do  better  in  my  own  room.  I  need 
rest  more  than  anything  else.  You  and  your  wife 
can  do  all  you  wish  for  me.  Indeed,  I  shall  visit 
you  to-morrow  and  fight  the  battle  over  again  with 
the  major.  Please  take  me  to  my  room  at  once," 
he  added  in  a  low  tone.      "  I'm  awfully  tired." 

"Come,  Mr.  Hilland,"  said  Mrs.  Mayburn,  in  a 
tone  almost  authoritative  ;  and  she  led  the  way  de- 
cisively. 

Hilland  yielded,  and  in  a  few  moments  Graham 
was  in  his  own  room,  and  after  taking  a  little  stimu- 
lant, explained. 


THE  BLOODRED   SKY.  199 

"  My  horse  was  shot  and  fell  on  me.  I  am  more 
bruised,  scratched,  and  used  up,  than  hurt  ;"  and 
so  it  proved,  though  his  escape  had  evidently  been 
almost  miraculous.  One  leg  and  foot  had  been 
badly  crushed.  There  were  two  flesh  wounds  in  his 
arm  ;  and  several  bullets  had  cut  his  clothing,  in  some 
places  drawing  blood.  All  over  his  clothes,  from 
head  to  foot,  were  traces  of  Virginia  soil  ;  and  he 
had  the  general  appearance  of  a  man  who  had  passed 
through  a  desperate  ineUe. 

"  I  tried  to  repair  damages  in  Washington,"  he 
said,  "  but  the  confusion  was  so  dire  I  had  to  choose 
between  a  hospital  and  home  ;  and  as  I  had  some 
symptoms  of  fever  last  night,  I  determined  to  push 
on  till  under  the  wing  of  my  good  old  aunty  and 
your  fraternal  care.  Indeed,  I  think  I  was  half 
delirious  when  I  took  the  train  last  evening  ;  but  it 
was  only  from  fatigue,  lack  of  sleep,  and  perhaps 
loss  of  blood.  Now,  please  leave  me  to  aunty's  care 
to-night,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  to-mor- 
row. ' ' 

Hilland  was  accordingly  constrained  to  yield  to 
his  friend's  wishes.  He  brought  the  best  surgeon 
in  town,  however,  and  gave  directions  that,  after  he 
had  dressed  Graham's  wounds,  he  should  spend  the 
night  in  Mrs.  Mayburn's  parlor,  and  report  to  him  if 
there  was  any  change  for  the  worse.  Fortunately, 
there  was  no  occasion  for  his  solicitude.  Graham 
slept  with  scarcely  a  break  till  late  the  next  morning  ; 
and  his  pulse  became  so  quiet  that  when  he  waked 
with  a  good  appetite,  the  physician  pronounced  all 
danger  passed, 


200  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

In  the  evening  he  was  bent  on  visiting  the  major. 
He  knew  they  were  all  eager  for  his  story,  and,  cal- 
culating upon  the  veteran's  influence  in  restraining 
Hilland  from  hasty  action,  he  resolved  that  his 
old  and  invalid  friend  should  hear  it  with  the  first. 
From  the  character  of  Hilland  he  knew  the  danger 
to  be  apprehended  was  that  he  would  throw  himself 
into  the  struggle  in  some  way  that  would  paralyze, 
or  at  the  least  curtail,  his  efificiency.  Both  his 
aunt  and  the  physician,  who  underrated  the  recu- 
perative power  of  Graham's  fine  physical  condition, 
urged  quiet  until  the  following  day  ;  but  he  assured 
them  he  would  suffer  more  from  restlessness  than 
from  a  moderate  degree  of  effort.  He  also  ex- 
plained to  his  aunt  that  he  wished  to  talk  with  Hil- 
land, and,  if  possible,  in  the  presence  of  his  wife  and 
the  major. 

"  Then  they  must  come  here,"  said  the  old  lady, 
resolutely. 

With  this  compromise  he  had  to  be  content  ; 
and  Hilland,  who  had  been  coming  and  going, 
readily  agreed  to  fetch  the  major. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TWO  BATTLES. 

IN  less  than  an  hour  Graham  was  in  the  parlor,  look- 
ing, it  is  true,  somewhat  battered,  but  cheerful 
and  resolute.  His  friends  found  him  installed  in  a 
great  arm-chair,  with  his  bruised  foot  on  a  cushion, 
his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  a  few  pieces  of  court-plaster 
distributed  rather  promiscuously  over  his  face  and 
head.  He  greeted  Hilland  and  his  wife  so  heartily, 
and  assured  the  major  so  genially  that  he  should 
now  divide  with  him  his  honors  as  a  veteran,  that 
they  were  reassured,  and  the  rather  tragic  mood 
in  which  they  had  started  on  the  visit  was  dispelled. 

"  I  must  admit,  though,"  he  added  to  his  old 
friend,  who  was  also  made  comfortable  in  his  chair, 
which  Hilland  had  brought  over,  "that  in  my  fall 
on  the  field  of  glory  I  made  a  sorry  figure.  I  was 
held  down  by  my  horse  and  trampled  on  as  if  I  had 
been  a  part  of  the  *  sacred  soil.'  " 

"Field  of  glory,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Hilland, 
contemptuously. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  become  a  soldier," 
said  Grace,  with  surprise. 

"  I  was  about  as  much  of  a  soldier  as  the  majar- 


202  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ity,  from  the  generals  down,"  was  the  laughing  re- 
ply. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  been  a  worse 
one,  if  you  had  tried,"  was  his  friend's  rejoinder. 
"  I  may  do  no  better  ;  but  I  should  be  less  than 
man  if  I  did  not  make  an  effort  to  wipe  out  tlie  dis- 
grace as  soon  as  possible.  No  reflection  on  you, 
Graham.  Your  wounds  exonerate  you  ;  and  I  know 
you  did  not  get  them  in  running  away." 

"  Yes,  I  did, — two  of  them,  at  least, — these  in  my 
arm.  As  to  *  wiping  out  this  disgrace  as  soon  as 
possible,'  I  think  that  is  a  very  secondary  mat- 
ter." 

"Well!  I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  was  Hil- 
land's  almost  savage  answer.  "  But  I  can  tell 
you  from  the  start  you  need  not  enter  on  your  old 
prudent  counsels  that  I  should  serve  the  govern- 
ment as  a  stay-at-home  quartermaster  and  general 
supply  agent.  In  my  opinion,  what  the  govern- 
ment needs  is  men, — men  who  at  least  won't  run 
away.  I  now  have  Grace's  permission  to  go, — dear, 
brave  girl  ! — and  go  I  shall.  To  stay  at  home  be- 
cause I  am  rich  seems  to  me  the  very  snobbishness  of 
wealth  ;  and  the  kind  of  work  I  have  been  doing 
graybeards  can  do  just  as  well,  and  better." 

Graham  turned  a  grave  look  of  inquiry  upon  the 
wife.  She  answered  it  by  saying  with  a  pallid  face, 
**  I  had  better  perish  a  thousand  times  than  destroy 
Warren's  self-respect." 

"What  right  have  you  to  preach  caution,"  con- 
tinued Hilland,  "  when  you  went  far  enough  to  be 
struck  by  half  a  dozen  bullets  ?" 


riVO  BATTLES.  203 

"  The  right  of  a  retreat  which  scarcely  slackened 
until  I  was  under  my  aunt's  roof." 

"  Come,  Graham,  you  are  tantalizing  us,"  said 
Hilland,  impatiently.  "There,  forgive  me,  old 
fellow.  I  fear  you  are  still  a  little  out  of  your 
head,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  return  of  his  old 
good  humor.  "  Dp  give  us,  then,  if  you  can,  some 
account  of  your  impetuous  advance  on  Washington, 
instead  of  Richmond." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Graham,"  added  the  major,  "if  you 
are  able  to  give  me  some  reason  for  not  blushing 
that  I  am  a  Northern  man,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear 
it." 

"  Mrs.  Hilland,"  said  Graham,  with  a  smiling 
glance  at  the  young  wife's  troubled  face,  "You 
have  the  advantage  of  us  all.  You  can  proudly  say, 
'  I'm  a  Southerner.'  Hilland  and  I  are  nothing  but 
'low-down  Yankees.'  Come,  good  friends,  I  have 
seen  enough  tragedy  of  late  ;  and  if  I  have  to  de- 
scribe a  little  to-night,  let  us  look  at  matters  philo- 
sophically. If  I  received  some  hard  knocks  from 
your  kin,  Mrs.  Hilland — " 

"  Don't  say  '  Mrs.  Hilland,'  "  interrupted  his 
friend.  "  As  I've  told  you  before,  my  wife  is 
*  Grace  '  to  you." 

"  So  be  it  then.  The  hard  knocks  from  your  kin 
have  materially  added  to  my  small  stock  of  sense,; 
and  I  think  the  entire  North  will  be  wiser  as  well  as 
sadder  before  many  days  pass.  We  have  been 
taught  that  taking  Richmond  and  marching  through 
the  South  will  be  no  holiday  picnic.  Major  St. 
John  has  been  right  from  the  start.     We  must  en- 


204  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

counter  brave,  determined  men  ;  and,  whatever  may 
be  true  of  the  leaders,  the  people  are  as  sincere 
in  their  patriotism  as  we  are.  They  don't  even 
dream  that  they  are  fighting  in  a  bad  cause.  The 
majority  will  stand  up  for  it  as  stoutly  and  con- 
scientiously as  your  husband  for  ours.  Have  I  not 
done  justice  to  your  kin,  Grace  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Then  forgive  me  if  I  say  that  until  four  o'clock 
last  Sunday  afternoon,  and  in  a  fair,  stand-up  fight 
between  a  Northern  mob  and  a  Southern  mob,  we 
whipped  them." 

"  But  I  thought  the  men  of  the  North  prided 
themselves  on  their  *  staying  power.'  " 

'*  They  had  no  '  staying  power  '  when  they  found 
fresh  regiments  and  batteries  pouring  in  on  their 
flank  and  rear.  I  believe  that  retreat  was  then  the 
proper  thing.  The  wild  panic  that  ensued  was 
almost  the  logical  result  of  the  condition  of  the 
men  and  oiificers,  and  especially  of  the  presence 
of  a  lot  of  nondescript  people  that  came  to  see  the 
thing  as  a  spectacle,  a  sort  of  gladiatorial  combat, 
upon  which  they  could  look  at  a  safe  distance.  Two 
most  excellent  results  have  been  attained  :  I  don't 
believe  we  shall  ever  send  out  another  mob  of  sol- 
diers ;  and  I  am  sure  that  a  mob  of  men  and  women 
from  Washington  will  never  follow  it  to  see  the 
fun." 

"  I  wish  Beauregard  had  coralled  them  all, — the 
mob  of  sight-seers,  I  mean,"  growled  the  major.  "  I 
must  say,  Mr.  Graham,  that  the  hard  knocks  you 
and  others  have  received  may  result  in  infinite  good. 


TWO  BATTLES.  205 

I  think  I  take  your  meaning,  and  that  we  shall  agree 
very  nearly  before  you  are  through.  You  know  that 
I  was  ever  bitterly  opposed  to  the  mad  '  On  to 
Richmond  '  cry  ;  and  now  the  cursed  Insanity  of 
the  thing  is  clearly  proved." 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  it  was  all  wrong, — that  it  in- 
volved risks  that  never  should  have  been  taken  at 
this  stage  of  the  war  ;  and  I  am  told  that  General 
Scott  and  other  veteran  ofificers  disapproved  of  the 
measure.  Nevertheless,  it  came  wonderfully  near 
being  successful.  We  should  have  gained  the  battle 
if  the  attack  had  been  made  earlier,  or  if  that  old 
muff,  Patterson,  had  done  his  duty." 

"  If  you  are  not  too  tired,  give  us  the  whole 
movement,  just  as  you  saw  it,"  said  Hilland,  his 
eyes  glowing  with  excitement. 

"  O,  I  feel  well  enough  for  another  retreat  to- 
night. My  trouble  was  chiefly  fatigue  and  lack  of 
sleep. ' ' 

"  Because  you  make  light  of  wounds,  we  do  not," 
said  Grace. 

"  Hilland  knows  that  the  loss  of  a  little  blood  as 
pale  and  watery  as  mine  would  be  of  small  account,'' 
was  Graham's  laughing  response. 

"  Well,  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  I  followed 
Patterson  till  convinced  that  his  chief  inpulse  was 
to  get  away  from  the  enemy.  I  then  hastened  to 
Washington  only  to  learn  that  McDowell  had  already 
had  a  heavy  skirmish  which  was  not  particularly  to 
our  advantage.  This  was  Saturday  morning,  and 
the  impression  was  that  a  general  engagement  would 
be  fought  almost  immediately.     The  fact  that  our 


2o6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

army  had  met  with  little  opposition  thus  far  created 
a  false  confidence.  I  did  not  care  to  risk  my  pet 
horse,  Mayburn.  You  must  know,  aunty,  I've  re- 
christened  Firebrand  in  your  honor,"  said  Graham. 
"  I  tried  to  get  another  mount,  but  could  not  ob- 
tain one  for  love  or  money.  Every  beast  and  con- 
veyance in  the  city  seemed  already  engaged  for  the 
coming  spectacle.  The  majority  of  these  civilians 
did  not  leave  till  early  on  Sunday  morning,  but  I  had 
plenty  of  company  on  Saturday,  when  with  my  good 
horse  I  went  in  a  rather  leisurely  way  to  Centerville  ; 
for  as  a  correspondent  I  had  fairly  accurate  informa- 
tion of  what  was  taking  place,  and  had  heard  that 
there  would  be  no  battle  that  day. 

"I  reached  Centerville  in  the  evening,  and  soon 
learned  that  the  forward  movement  would  take 
place  in  the  night.  Having  put  my  horse  in  thor- 
ough condition  for  the  morrow,  and  made  an  enor- 
mous supper  through  the  hospitality  of  some  staff- 
ofificers,  I  sought  a  quiet  knoll  on  which  to  sleep 
in  soldier  fashion  under  the  sky,  but  found  the  scene 
too  novel  and  beautiful  for  such  prosaic  oblivion.  I 
was  on  the  highest  ground  I  could  find,  and  beneath 
and  on  either  side  of  me  were  the  camp-fires  of  an 
army.  Around  the  nearest  of  these  could  be  seen 
the  forms  of  the  soldiers  in  every  picturesque  at- 
titude ;  some  still  cooking  and  making  their  rude 
suppers,  others  executing  double-shuffles  like  war- 
dances,  more  discussing  earnestly  and  excitedly  the 
prospects  of  the  coming  day,  and  not  a  few  looking 
pensively  into  the  flames  as  if  they  saw  pictures  of 
the  homes  and  friends  they  might  never  see  again. 


TIVO  BATTLES.  207 

In  the  main,  however,  animation  and  jollity  pre- 
vailed ;  and  from  far  and  near  came  the  sound  of 
song,  and  laughter,  and  chaffing.  Far  down  the 
long  slope  toward  the  dark,  wooded  valley  of  Bull 
Run,  the  light  of  the  fires  shaded  off  into  such  ob- 
scurity as  the  full  moon  permitted,  while  beyond 
the  stream  in  the  far  distance  a  long,  irregular  line 
of  luminous  haze  marked  the  encampments  of  the 
enemy. 

"  As  the  night  advanced  the  army  grew  quiet ;  near 
and  distant  sounds  died  away  ;  the  canvas  tents  were 
like  mounds  of  snow  ;  and  by  the  flickering,  dying 
flames  were  multitudes  of  quiet  forms.  At  mid- 
night few  scenes  could  be  more  calm  and  beautiful, 
so  tenderly  did  the  light  of  the  moon  soften  and 
etherealize  everything.  Even  the  parked  artillery 
lost  much  of  its  grim  aspect,  and  all  nature  seemed 
to  breathe  peace  and  rest. 

"  It  was  rumored  that  McDowell  wished  to  make 
part  of  the  march  in  the  evening,  and  it  would  have 
been  well  !f  he  had  done  so.  A  little  past  midnight  a- 
general  stir  and  bustle  ran  through  the  sleeping  army. 
Figures  were  seen  moving  hurriedly,  men  forming 
into  lines,  and  there  was  a  general  movement.  But 
there  was  no  promptness  of  action.  The  soldiers 
stood  around,  sat  down,  and  at  last  lay  on  their 
arms  and  slept  again.  Mounting  my  horse,  with 
saddle-bags  well  stuffed  with  such  rations  as  I  could 
obtain,  I  sought  the  centres  of  information.  It  ap- 
peared that  the  Division  under  General  Tyler  was 
slow  in  starting,  and  blocked  the  march  of  the 
Second  and  the  Third  Division.    As  I  picked  my  way 


2o8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

around,  only  a  horse's  sagacity  kept  me  from  crush- 
ing some  sleeping  fellow's  leg  or  arm,  for  a  horse 
won't  step  on  a  man  unless  excited. 

"  Well,  Tyler's  men  got  out  of  the  way  at  last  in 
a  hap-hazard  fashion,  and  the  Second  and  Third  Di- 
visions were  also  steadily  moving,  but  hours  behind 
time.  Such  marching  !  It  reminded  one  of  country- 
men streaming  along  a  road  to  a  Fourth  of  July 
celebration. 

"  My  main  policy  was  to  keep  near  the  commander- 
in-chief,  for  thus  I  hoped  to  obtain  from  the  staff 
some  idea  of  the  plan  of  battle  and  where  its  brunt 
would  fall.  I  confess  that  I  was  disgusted  at  first, 
for  the  general  was  said  to  be  ill,  and  he  followed  his 
columns  in  a  carriage.  It  seemed  an  odd  way  of 
leading  an  army.  But  he  came  out  all  right  ;  and 
he  did  his  duty  as  a  soldier  and  a  general,  although 
every  one  is  cursing  him  to-day.  He  was  the  first 
man  on  the  real  battle-field,  and  by  no  means  the 
first  to  leave  it. 

' '  Of  course  I  came  and  went  along  the  line  of  march, 
or  of  straggling  rather,  as  I  pleased  ;  but  I  kept 
my  eye  on  the  general  and  his  staflf.  I  soon  ob- 
served that  he  decided  to  make  his  headquarters 
at  the  point  where  a  road  leading  from  the  great 
Warrenton  Turnpike  passed  to  the  north  through 
what  is  known  as  the  '  Big  Woods.'  Tyler's  com- 
mand continued  westward  down  the  turnpike  to 
what  is  known  as  the  Stone  Bridge,  a  single  sub- 
stantial arch  at  which  the  enemy  were  said  to  be  in 
force.  It  now  became  clear  that  the  first  fighting 
would  be  there,  and  that  it  was  McDowell's  plan  to 


TWO   BATTLES.  209 

send  his  main  force  under  Hunter  and  Heintzelman 
farther  north  through  the  woods  to  cross  at  some 
point  above.  I  therefore  followed  Tyler's  column 
as  that  must  soon  become  engaged. 

"  The  movements  had  all  been  so  mortally  slow  that 
any  chance  for  surprise  was  lost.  As  we  approached 
the  bridge  it  was  as  lovely  a  summer  morning  as 
you  would  wish  to  see.  I  had  ridden  ahead  with 
the  scouts.  Thrushes,  robins,  and  other  birds  were 
singing  in  the  trees.  Startled  rabbits,  and  a  mother- 
bird  with  a  brood  of  quails,  scurried  across  the  road, 
and  all  seemed  as  still  and  peaceful  as  any  Sunday 
that  had  ever  dawned  on  the  scene.  It  was  hard  to 
persuade  one's  self  that  in  front  and  rear  were  the 
forces  of  deadly  war. 

"  We  soon  reached  an  eminence  from  which  we 
saw  what  dispelled  at  once  the  illusion  of  sylvan 
solitude.  The  sun  had  been  shining  an  hour  or 
two,  and  the  bridge  before  us  and  the  road  beyond 
were  defended  by  abatis  and  other  obstructions. 
On  the  farther  bank  a  line  of  infantry  was  in  full  view 
with  batteries  in  position  prepared  to  receive  us.  I 
confess  it  sent  a  thrill  through  every  nerve  when  I 
first  saw  the  ranks  of  the  foe  we  must  encounter  in 
no  mere  pageant  of  war. 

"  In  a  few  moments  our  forces  came  up,  and  at 
first  one  brigade  deployed  on  the  left  and  another 
on  the  right  of  the  pike.  At  last  I  witnessed  a  scene 
that  had  the  aspect  of  war.  A  great  thirty-pound 
Parrott  gun  unHmbered  in  the  centre  of  the  pike, 
and  looked  like  a  surly  mastiff.  In  a  moment  an 
officer,    who  understood    his    business,  sighted    it. 


2IO  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

There  was  a  flash,  bright  even  in  the  July  sunlight,  a 
grand  report  awakening  the  first  echoes  of  a  battle 
whose  thunder  was  heard  even  in  Washington  ;  and 
a  second  later  we  saw  the  shell  explode  directly  over 
the  line  of  Confederate  infantry.  Their  ranks 
broke  and  melted  away  as  if  by  magic." 

"  Good  shot,  well  aimed.  O  heavens  !  what 
would  I  not  give  to  be  thirty  years  younger.  Go 
on,  Graham,  go  on  ;"  for  the  young  man  had 
stopped  to  take  a  sip  of  wine. 

"  Yes,  Graham,"  cried  Hilland,  springing  to  his 
feet ;  ' '  what  next  ?' ' 

"  I  fear  we  are  doing  Mr.  Graham  much  wrong," 
Grace  interrupted.  "  He  must  be  going  far  beyond 
his  strength." 

The  young  man  had  addressed  his  words  almost 
solely  to  the  major,  not  only  out  of  courtesy,  but 
also  for  a  reason  that  Grace  partially  surmised.  He 
now  turned  and  smiled  into  her  flushed,  troubled 
face,  and  said,  "  I  fear  you  find  these  details  of  war 
dull  and  wearisome." 

* '  On  the  contrary,  you  are  so  vivid  a  raconteur  that 
I  fear  Warren  will  start  for  the  front  before  you  are 
through." 

"  When  I  am  through  you  will  think  differently." 

"  But  you  are  going  beyond  your  strength." 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  not  ;  though  I  thank  you  for 
your  thoughtfulness.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life  ; 
and  it  gives  me  a  kind  of  pleasure  to  make  you  all 
realize  things  as  I  saw  them." 

"  And  it  gives  us  great  pleasure  to  listen,"  cried 
Hilland.     "  Even  Mrs.  Mayburn  there  is  knitting  as 


TIVO  BATTLES.  211 

if  her  needles  were  bayonets  ;  and  Grace  has  the 
flush  of  a  soldier's  daughter  on  her  cheeks." 

**  O  stop  your  chatter,  and  let  Graham  go  on," 
said  the  major,—"  that  *is,  if  it's  prudent  for  him," 
he  added  from  a  severe  sense  of  duty.  * '  What  fol- 
lowed that  blessed  shell  ?" 

"  A  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  in  the  form  of 
many  other  shells  that  evoked  no  reply  ;  and  be- 
yond his  feeble  demonstration  Tyler  did  nothing.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  a  determined  dash  at  the  bridge 
would  have  carried  it.  I  was  fretting  and  fuming 
about  when  a  staff-officer  gave  me  a  hint  that  noth- 
ing was  to  be  done  at  present,— that  it  was  all  only  a 
feint,  and  that  the  columns  that  had  gone  north- 
ward through  the  woods  would  begin  the  real  work. 
His  words  were  scarcely  spoken  before  I  was  making 
my  way  to  the  rear.  I  soon  reached  McDowell's 
carriage  at  the  intersection  of  the  roads,  and  found 
it  empty.  Learning  that  the  general,  in  his  impa- 
tience, had  taken  horse  and  galloped  ofT  to  see  what 
had  become  of  his  tardy  commanders,  I  followed  at 
full  speed. 

"  It  was  a  wild,  rough  road,  scarcely  more  than  a 
lane  through  the  woods  ;  but  Mayburn  was  equal  to 
it,  and  like  a  bird  carried  me  through  its  gloomy 
shades,  where  I  observed  not  a  few  skulkers  cower- 
ing in  the  brush  as  I  sped  by.  I  overtook  Heintzel- 
man's  command  as  it  was  crossing  the  run  at  Sud- 
ley's  Ford  ;  and  such  a  scene  of  confusion  I  hope 
never  to  witness  again.  The  men  were  emptying 
their  canteens  and  refilling  them,  laving  their  hands 
and  faces,  and  refreshing  themselves  generally.     It 


212  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

was  really  quite  a  picnic.  Officers  were  storming 
and  ordering  "  the  boys" — and  boys  they  seemed,  in- 
deed— to  move  on  ;  and  by  dint  of  much  profanity, 
and  the  pressure  of  those  following,  regiment  after 
regiment  at  last  straggled  up  the  farther  bank, 
went  into  brigade  formation,  and  shambled  for- 
ward. ' ' 

"  The  cursed  mob  !"  muttered  the  major. 
Well,  poor  fellows  !  they  soon  won  my  respect  ; 
and  yet,  as  I  saw  them  then,  stopping  to  pick  black- 
berries along  the  road,  I  did  feel  like  riding  them 
down.  I  suppose  my  horse  and  I  lowered  the 
stream  somewhat  as  we  drank,  for  the  day  had 
grown  sultry  and  the  sun's  rays  intensely  hot.  Then 
I  hastened  on  to  find  the  general.  It  seemed  as  if 
we  should  never  get  out  of  the  woods,  as  if  the  army 
had  lost  itself  in  an  interminable  forest.  Wild  birds 
and  game  fled  before  us  ;  and  I  heard  one  soldier 
call  out  to  another  that  it  was  *  a  regular  Virginia 
coon-hunt.'  As  I  reached  the  head  of  the  column 
the  timber  grew  thinner,  and  I  was  told  that  Mc- 
Dowell was  reconnoitring  in  advance.  Galloping 
out  into  the  open  fields,  I  saw  him  far  beyond  me, 
already  the  target  of  Rebel  bullets.  His  staff  and  a 
company  of  cavalry  were  with  him  ;  and  as  I  ap- 
proached he  seemed  rapidly  taking  in  the  topo- 
graphical features  of  the  field.  Having  apparently 
satisfied  himself,  he  galloped  to  the  rear  ;  and  at 
the  same  time  Hunter's  troops  came  pouring  out  of 
the  woods. 

"  There  was  now  a  prospect   of  warm  work  and 
plenty  of  it.     For  the   life  of  me  I   can't  tell  you 


riVO  BATTLES.  213 

how  the  battle  began.  Our  men  came  forward  in  an 
irregular  manner,  rushing  onward  impetuously,  halt- 
ing unnecessarily,  with  no  master  mind  directing.  It 
seemed  at  first  as  if  the  mere  momentum  of  the 
march  carried  us  under  the  enemy's  fire  ;  and  then 
there  was  foolish  delay.  By  the  aid  of  my  powerful 
glass  I  was  convinced  that  we  might  have  walked 
right  over  the  first  thin  rebel  line  on  the  ridge 
nearest  us. 

"  The  artillery  exchanged  shots  awhile.  Regi- 
ments under  the  command  of  General  Burnside  de- 
ployed in  the  fields  to  the  left  of  the  road  down 
which  we  had  come  ;  skirmishers  were  thrown  out 
rapidly  and  began  their  irregular  firing  at  an  absurd 
distance  from  the  enemy.  There  was  hesitancy, 
delay ;  and  the  awkwardness  of  troops  ui^ccus- 
tomed  to  act  together  in  large  bodies  was  enhanced 
by  the  excitement  inseparable  from  their  first  ex- 
perience of  real  war. 

"  In  spite  of  all  this  the  battle-field  began  to  pre- 
sent grand  and  inspiring  effects.  The  troops  were 
debouching  rapidly  from  the  woods,  their  bayonets 
gleaming  here  and  there  through  the  dust  raised  by 
their  hurrying  feet,  and  burning  in  serried  lines  when 
they  were  ranged  under  the  cloudless  sun.  In  every 
movement  made  by  every  soldier  the  metal  points 
in  his  accoutrements  flashed  and  scintillated.  Again 
there  was  something  very  spirited  in  the  appearance 
of  a  battery  rushed  into  position  at  a  gallop, — the 
almost  instantaneous  unlimbering,  the  caissons  mov- 
ing to  the  rear,  and  the  guns  at  the  same  moment 
thundering  their  defiance,  while  the  smoke,  hfting 


214  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

slowly  on  the  heavy  air,  rises  and  blends  with  that  of 
the  other  side,  and  hangs  like  a  pall  to  leeward  of 
the  field.  The  grandest  thing  of  all,  however,  was 
the  change  in  the  men.  The  uncouth,  coarsely- 
jesting,  blackberry-picking  fellows  that  lagged  and 
straggled  to  the  battle  became  soldiers  in  their  in- 
stincts and  rising  excitement  and  courage,  if  not  in 
machine-like  discipline  and  coolness.  As  I  rode 
here  and  there  I  could  see  that  they  were  erect,  eager, 
and  that  their  eyes  began  to  glow  like  coals  from 
their  dusty  sunburnt  visages.  If  there  were  occa- 
sional evidences  of  fear,  there  were  more  of  resolu- 
tion and  desire  for  the  fray. 

"  The  aspect  of  affairs  on  the  ridge,  where  the 
enemy  awaited  us,  did  not  grow  encouraging.  With 
my  glass  I  could  see  reinforcements  coming  up> 
rapidly  during  our  delay.  New  guns  were  seeking 
position,  which  was  scarcely  taken  before  there  was 
a  puff  of  smoke  and  their  iron  message.  Heavens  ! 
what  a  vicious  sound  those  shells  had  !  something 
between  a  whiz  and  a  shriek.  Even  the  horses 
would  cringe  and  shudder  when  one  passed  over 
them,  and  the  men  would  duck  their  heads, 
though  the  missile  was  thirty  feet  in  the  air.  I  sup- 
pose there  was  some  awfully  wild  firing  on  both 
sides  ;  but  I  saw  several  of  our  men  carried  to  the 
rear.  But  all  this  detail  is  an  old,  old  story  to  you, 
major." 

"  Yes,  an  old  story,  but  one  that  can  never  lose 
its  fierce  charm.  I  see  it  all  as  you  describe  it. 
Go  on,  and  omit  nothing  you  can  remember  of  the 
scene.     Mrs.  Mayburn  looks  as  grim  as  one  of  your 


TWO  BATTLES,  215 

cannon  ;  and  Grace,  my  child,  you  won't  flinch,  will 
you  ?" 

"  No,  papa." 

"  That's  my  brave  wife's  child.  She  often  said, 
'  Tell  me  all.  I  wish  to  know  just  what  you  have 
passed  through.'  " 

A  brief  glance  assured  Graham  that  her  father's 
spirit  was  then  supreme,  and  that  she  looked  with 
woman's  admiration  on  a  scene  replete  with  the 
manhood  woman  most  admires. 

"  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  battle,  as  such," 
continued  Graham.  "  I  can  only  outline  faintly 
the  picture  I  saw  dimly  through  dust  and  smoke 
from  my  own  standpoint.  Being  under  no  one's 
orders  I  could  go  where  I  pleased,  and  I  tried  to 
find  the  vital  points.  Of  course,  there  was  much 
heavy  fighting  that  I  saw  nothing  of,  movements 
unknown  to  me  or  caught  but  imperfectly.  During 
the  preliminary  conflict  I  remained  on  the  right  of 
Burnside's  command  near  the  Sudley  Road  by  which 
our  army  had  reached  the  field. 

"  When  at  last  his  troops  began  to  press  forward, 
their  advance  was  decided  and  courageous  ;  but  the 
enemy  held  their  own  stubbornly.  The  fighting 
was  severe  and  deadly,  for  we  were  now  within  easy 
musket  range.  At  one  time  I  trembled  for  Burn- 
side's  lines,  and  I  saw  one  of  his  aids  gallop  furiously 
to  the  rear  for  help.  It  came  almost  immediately 
in  the  form  of  a  fine  body  of  regulars  under  Major 
Sykes  ;  and  our  wavering  lines  were  rendered  firm 
and  more  aggressive  than  ever.  At  the  same  time 
it  was  evident  that  our  forces  were  going  into  action 


2i6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

off  to  the  right  of  the  Sudley  Road,  and  that  another 
battery  had  opened  on  the  enemy.  I  afterward 
learned  that  they  were  Rickett's  guns.  Under  this 
increasing  and  relentless  pressure  the  enemy's  lines 
were  seen  to  waver.  Wild  cheers  went  up  from  our 
ranks  ;  and  such  is  the  power  of  the  human  voice — 
the  echo  direct  from  the  heart — that  these  shouts 
rose  above  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  the  crash  of 
musketry,  and  thrilled  every  nerve  and  fibre.  On- 
ward pressed  our  men  ;  the  Rebel  lines  yielded, 
broke,  and  our  foes  retreated  down  the  hill,  but  at 
a  dogged,  stubborn  pace,  fighting  as  they  went. 
Seeing  the  direction  they  were  taking,  I  dashed  into 
the  Sudley  Road  near  which  I  had  kept  as  the  centre 
of  operations.  At  the  intersection  of  this  road  with 
the  Warrenton  Turnpike  was  a  stone  house,  and  be- 
hind this  the  enemy  rallied  as  if  determined  to  re- 
treat no  farther.  I  had  scarcely  observed  this  fact 
when  I  saw  a  body  of  men  forming  in  the  road  just 
above  me.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  in  motion. 
On  they  came,  a  resistless  human  torrent  with  a  roar 
of  hoarse  shouts  and  cries.  I  was  carried  along  with 
them  ;  but  before  we  reached  the  stone  house  the 
enemy  broke  and  fled,  and  the  whole  Rebel  line  was 
swept  back  half  a  mile  or  more. 

"  Thus  you  see  that  in  the  first  severe  conflict  of 
the  day,  and  when  pitted  against  numbers  compara- 
tively equal,  we  won  a  decided  victory." 

Both  the  major  and  Hilland  drew  along  breath  of 
relief  ;  and  the  former  said,  "  I  have  been  hasty 
and  unjust  in  my  censure.  If  that  raw  militia 
could   be    made   to    fight   at   all,    it    can   in    time 


TfVO  BATTLES. 


217 


be  made  to  fight  well.  Mr.  Graham,  you  have 
deeply  gratified  an  old  soldier  to-night  by  de- 
scribing scenes  that  carry  me  back  to  the  grand  era 
of  my  life.  I  believe  I  was  born  to  be  a  soldier  ; 
I  and  my  old  campaigns  stand  out  in  memory  Hke 
sun-lighted  mountain-tops.  Forgive  such  high-flown 
talk, — I  know  it's  not  Hke  me,— but  I've  had  to-night 
some  of  my  old  battle  excitement.  I  never  thought 
to  feel  it  again.  We'll  hear  the  rest  of  your  story 
to-morrow.  I  outrank  you  all,  by  age  at  least  ;  and 
I  now  order  'taps.'  " 

Graham  was  not  sorry,  for  in  strong  reaction  a 
sudden  sense  of  almost  mortal  weakness  overcame 
him.  Even  the  presence  of  Grace,  for  whose  sake, 
after  all,  he  had  unconsciously  told  his  story,  could 
not  sustain  him  any  longer,  and  he  sank  back  look- 
ing very  white. 

You  have  over-exerted  yourself, ' '  she  said  gently, 
coming  to  his  side.  '  *  You  should  have  stopped  when 
I  cautioned  you  ;  or  rather,  we. should  have  been 
more  thoughtful." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  overrated  my  strength, — it's  a 
fault  of  mine,"  was  his  smiling  reply.  "  I  shall  be 
perfectly  well  after  a  night's  rest." 

He  had  looked  up  at  her  as  he  spoke  ;  and  in  that 
moment  of  weakness  there  was  a  wistful,  hungry 
look  in  his  eyes  that  smote  her  heart. 

A  shallow,  silly  woman,  or  an  intensely  selfish 
one,  would  have  exulted.  Here  was  a  man,  cool, 
strong,  and  masterful  among  other  men, — a  man  who 
had  gone  to  the  other  side  of  the  globe  to  escape 
her  power,— one  who  within  the  last  few  days  had 


2l8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

witnessed  a  battle  with  the  quiet  poise  that  enabled 
him  to  study  it  as  an  artist  or  a  tactician  ;  and  yet  he 
could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  betraying  the  truth  that 
there  was  something  within  his  heart  stronger  than 
himself. 

Did  Grace  Hilland  lay  this  flattering  unction  to 
her  soul  ?  No.  She  went  away  inexpressibly  sad. 
She  felt  that  two  battle  scenes  had  been  presented 
to  her  mind  ;  and  the  conflict  that  had  been  waged 
silently,  patiently,  and  unceasingly  in  a  strong 
man's  soul  had  to  her  the  higher  elements  of  hero- 
ism. It  was  another  of  those  wretched  problems 
offered  by  this  imperfect  world  for  which  there 
seems  no  remedy. 

When  Hilland  hastened  over  to  see  his  friend  and 
add  a  few  hearty  words  to  those  he  had  already 
spoken,  he  was  told  that  he  was  sleeping. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  LOGIC   OF   EVENTS. 

GRAHAM  was  right  in  his  prediction  that  an- 
other night's  rest  would  carry  him  far  on  the 
road  to  recovery  ;  and  he  insisted, when  Hilland  called 
in  the  morning,  that  the  major  should  remain  in  his 
accustomed  chair  at  home,  and  listen  to  the  re- 
mainder of  the  story.  "  My  habit  of  life  is  so 
active,"  he  said,  "  that  a  little  change  will  do  me 
good  ;"  and  so  it  was  arranged.  By  leaning  on 
Hilland's  shoulder  he  was  able  to  limp  the  short 
distance  between  the  cottages  ;  and  he  found  that 
Grace  had  made  every  arrangement  for  his  comfort 
on  the  piazza,  where  the  major  welcomed  him  with 
almost  the  eagerness  of  a  child  for  whom  an  absorb- 
ing story  is  to  be  continued. 

"  You  can't  know  how  you  interested  us  all  last 
night,"  Grace  began.  "I  never  knew  papa  to  be 
more  gratified  ;  and  as  for  Warren,  he  could  not 
sleep  for  excitement.  Where  did  you  learn  to  tell 
stories  ?" 

"  I  was  said  to  be  very  good  at  fiction  when  a 
boy,  especially  when  I  got  into  scrapes.  But  you 
can't  expect  in  this  garish  light  any  such  effects  as 


220  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS.- 

I  may  have  created  last  evening.  It  requires  the 
mysterious  power  of  night  and  other  conditions  to 
secure  a  glamour  ;  and  so  you  must  look  for  the 
baldest  prose  to-day." 

"  Indeed,  Graham,  we  scarcely  know  what  to  ex- 
pect from  you  any  more,"  Hilland  remarked. 
"From  being  a  quiet  cynic  philosopher,  content  to 
delve  in  old  libraries  like  the  typical  bookworm, 
you  become  an  indefatigable  sportsman,  horse-tamer, 
explorer  of  the  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and  last, 
and  strangest,  a  newspaper  correspondent  who 
doesn't  know  that  the  place  to  see  and  write  about 
battles  is  several  miles  in  the  rear.  What  will  you 
do  next  ?" 

"  My  future  will  be  redeemed  from  the  faintest 
trace  of  eccentricity.  I  shall  do  what  about  a  mill- 
ion other  Americans  will  do  eventually, — go  into 
the  army." 

"  Ah  !  now  you  talk  sense,  and  I  am  with  you.  I 
shall  be  ready  to  go  as  soon  as  you  are  well  enough. " 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"I  don't." 

"Grace,  what  do  you  say  to  all  this?"  turning 
a  troubled  look  upon  the  wife. 

"I  foresee  that,  like  my  mother,  I  am  to  be  the 
wife  of  a  soldier,"  she  replied  with  a  smile,  while 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  I  did  not  marry  Warren 
to  destroy  his  sense  of  manhood." 

"You  see,  Graham,  how  it  is.  You  also  per- 
ceive what  a  knight  I  must  be  to  be  worthy  of  the 
lady  I  leave  in  bower." 

"  Yes  ;  I  see  it  all  too  well.     But  I  must  misquote 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  221 

Shakespeare  to  you,  and  '  charge  you  to  stand  on  the 
order  of  your  going  ;'  and  I  think  the  rest  of  my 
story  will  prove  that  I  have  good  reason  for  the 
charge. 

"  I  should  have  been  sorry,"  said  the  major,  "  to 
have  had  Grace  marry  a  man  who  would  consult 
only  ease  and  safety  in  times  like  these.  It  will  be 
awfully  hard  to  have  him  go.  But  the  time  may 
soon  come  when  it  would  be  harder  for  Grace  to 
have  him  stay  ;  that  is,  if  she  is  like  her  mother. 
But  what's  the  use  of  looking  at  the  gloomy  side  ? 
I've  been  through  a  dozen  battles  ;  and  here  I  am  to 
plague  the  world  yet.  But  now  for  the  story.  You 
left  off,  Mr.  Graham,  at  the  rout  of  the  first  rebel 
line  of  battle." 

"  And  this  had  not  been  attained,"  resumed  Gra- 
ham, "without  serious  loss  to  our  side.  Colonel 
Hunter,  who  commanded  the  Second  Division,  you 
remember,  was  so  severely  wounded  by  a  shell  that 
he  had  to  leave  the  field  early  in  the  action. 
Colonel  Slocum  of  one  of  the  Rhode  Island  regi- 
ments was  niortally  wounded  ;  and  his  major  had 
his  leg  crushed  by  a  cannon  ball  which  at  the  same 
time  killed  his  horse.  Many  others  were  wounded 
and  must  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  poor  fellows, 
that  hot  day.  As  for  the  dead  that  strewed  the 
ground — their  troubles  were  over." 

"  But  not  the  troubles  of  those  that  loved  them," 
said  Grace,  bitterly. 

Graham  turned  hastily  away.  When  a  moment 
later  he  resumed  his  narrative,  she  noticed  that  his 
eyes  were  moist  and  his  tones  husky. 


222  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  Our  heaviest  loss  was  in  the  demoralization  of 
some  of  the  regiments  engaged.  They  appeared  to 
have  so  little  cohesion  that  one  feared  all  the  time 
that  they  might  crumble  away  into  mere  human 
atoms. 

**  The  affair  continually  took  on  a  larger  aspect, 
as  more  troops  became  engaged.  We  had  driven 
the  Confederates  down  a  gentle  slope,  across  a  small 
stream  called  Young's  Branch,  and  up  a  hill  beyond 
and  to  the  south.  This  position  was  higher  and 
stronger  than  any  they  had  yet  occupied.  On  the 
crest  of  the  hill  were  two  houses  ;  and  the  enemy 
could  be  seen  forming  a  line  extending  from  one  to 
the  other.  They  were  evidently  receiving  reinforce- 
ments rapidly.  I  could  see  gray  columns  hastening 
forward  and  deploying  ;  and  I've  no  doubt  that 
many  of  the  fugitives  were  rallied  beyond  this  line. 
Meanwhile,  I  was  informed  that  Tyler's  Division,  left 
in  the  morning  at  Stone  Bridge,  had  crossed  the 
Run,  in  obedience  to  McDowell's  orders,  and  were 
on  the  field  at  the  left  of  our  line.  Such,  as  far  as  I 
could  judge,  was  the  position  of  affairs  between 
twelve  and  one,  although  I  can  give  you  only  my 
impressions.  It  appeared  to  me  that  our  men  were 
fighting  well,  gradually  and  steadily  advancing,  and 
closing  in  upon  the  enemy.  Still,  I  cannot  help 
feehng  that  if  we  had  followed  up  our  success  by  the 
determined  charge  of  one  brigade  that  would  hold 
together,  the  hill  might  have  been  swept,  and  vic- 
tory made  certain. 

"  I  had  taken  my  position  near  Rickett's  and 
Griffin's  batteries  on  the  right  of  our  line,  and  de- 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  223 

cided  to  follow  them  up,  not  only  because  they  were 
doing  splendid  work,  but  also  for  the  reason  that 
they  would  naturally  be  given  commanding  positions 
at  vital  points.  By  about  two  o'clock  we  had  occu- 
pied the  Warrenton  Turnpike  ;  and  we  justly  felt 
that  much  had  been  gained.  The  Confederate  lines 
between  the  two  houses  on  the  hill  had  given  way  ; 
and  from  the  sounds  we  heard,  they  must  have 
been  driven  back  also  by  a  charge  on  our  extreme 
left.  Indeed,  there  was  scarcely  anything  to  be 
seen  of  the  foe  that  thus  far  had  been  not  only 
seen  but  felt. 

"  From  a  height  near  the  batteries  where  I  stood, 
the  problem  appeared  somewhat  clear  to  me.  We 
had  driven  the  enemy  up  and  over  a  hill  of  con- 
siderable altitude,  and  across  an  uneven  plateau,  and 
they  were  undoubtedly  in  the  woods  beyond,  a 
splendid  position  which  commanded  the  entire  open 
space  over  which  we  must  advance  to  reach  them. 
They  were  in  cover  ;  we  should  be  in  full  view  in 
all  efforts  to  dislodge  them.  Their  very  reverses  had 
secured  for  them  a  position  worth  half  a  dozen  regi- 
ments ;  and  I  trembled  as  I  thought  of  our  raw 
militia  advancing  under  conditions  that  would  try 
the  courage  of  veterans.  You  remember  that  if 
Washington,  in  the  Revolution,  could  get  his  new 
recruits  behind  a  rail-fence,  they  thought  they  were 
safe. 

"  Well,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  The  hill  and 
plateau  must  be  crossed  under  a  point-blank  fire,  in 
order  to  reach  the  enemy,  and  that,  too,  by  men 
who  had  been  under  arms  since  midnight,  and  the 


2  24  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

majority  wearied  by  a  long  march  under  a  blazing 
sun. 

"  About  half  past  two,  when  the  assault  began,  a 
strange  and  ominous  quiet  rested  on  the  field.  As 
1  have  said,  the  enemy  had  disappeared.  The  men 
scarcely  knew  what  to  think  of  it  ;  and  in  some  a 
false  confidence,  speedily  dispelled,  was  begotten. 
Rickett's  battery  was  moved  down  across  the  valley 
to  the  top  of  a  hill  just  beyond  the  residence  owned 
and  occupied  by  a  Mrs.  Henry.  I  followed  and 
entered  the  house,  already  shattered  by  shot  and 
shell,  curious  to  know  whether  it  was  occupied,  and 
by  whom.  Pitiful  to  relate,  I  found  that  Mrs.  Henry 
was  a  widow  and  a  helpless  invalid.  The  poor  woman 
was  in  mortal  terror  ;  and  it  was  my  hope  to  return 
and  carry  her  to  some  place  of  safety,  but  the  swift 
and  deadly  tide  of  war  gave  me  no  chance."* 

"  Rickett's  battery  had  scarcely  unlimbered  before 
death  was  busy  among  his  cannoneers  and  even  his 
horses.  The  enemy  had  not  only  the  cover  of  the 
woods,  but  a  second  growth  of  pines,  which  fringed 
them  and  completely  concealed  the  Rebel  sharp- 
shooters. When  a  man  fell,  nothing  could  be  seen 
but  a  puff  of  smoke.  These  little  jets  and  wreaths 
of  smoke  half  encircled  us,  and  made  but  a  phantom- 
like target  for  our  people  ;  and  I  think  it  speaks 
well  for  officers  and  men  that  they  not  only  did 
their  duty,  but  that  Griffin's  battery  also  came  up, 
and  that  both  batteries  held  their  own  against  a  ter- 


*  Mrs.  Henry,  although  confined  to  her  bed,  was  wounded  two 
or  three  times,  and  died  soon  afterward. 


THE   LOGIC   OF  EVENTS.  225 

rific  point-blank  fire  from  the  Rebel  cannon,  which 
certainly  exceeded  ours  in  number.  The  range  was 
exceedingly  short,  and  a  more  terrific  artillery  duel 
it  would  be  hard  to  imagine.  At  the  same  time  the 
more  deadly  little  pufTs  of  smoke  continued  ;  and 
men  in  every  attitude  of  duty  would  suddenly  throw 
up  their  hands  and  fall.  The  batteries  had  no  busi- 
ness to  be  so  exposed,  and  their  supports  were  of  no 
real  service. 

"  I  can  give  you  an  idea  of  what  occurred  at  this 
point  only  ;  but,  from  the  sounds  I  heard,  there  was 
very  heavy  fighting  elsewhere,  which  I  fear,  how- 
ever, was  too  spasmodic  and  ill-directed  to  accom- 
plish the  required  ends.  A  heavy,  persistent  concen- 
trated attack,  a  swift  push  with  the  bayonet  through 
the  low  pines  and  woods,  would  have  saved  the 
day.  Perhaps  our  troops  were  not  equal  to  it  ;  and 
yet,  poor  fellows,  they  did  braver  things  that  were 
utterly  useless. 

"  I  still  believe,  however,  all  might  have  gone  well, 
had  it  not  been  for  a  horrible  mistake.  I  was  [not 
very  far  from  Captain  Griffin,  and  v/as  watching  his 
cool  effective  superintendence  of  his  guns,  when 
suddenly  I  noticed  a  regiment  in  full  view  on  our 
right  advancing  toward  us.  Grififin  caught  sight 
of  it  at  the  same  moment,  and  seemed  amazed. 
Were  they  Confederates  or  National  ?  was  the  ques- 
tion to  be  decided  instantly.  They  might  be  his 
own  support.  Doubtful  and  yet  exceedingly  ap- 
prehensive, he  ordered  his  guns  to  be  loaded  with 
canister  and  trained  upon  this  dubious  force  that  had 
come  into  view  like  an  apparition  ;  but  he  still  hesi- 


2  26  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

tated,  restrained,  doubtless,  by  the  fearful  thought 
of  annihilating  a  Union  regiment. 

"  'Captain,'  said  Major  Barry,  chief  of  artillery, 
'  they  are  your  battery  support.' 

"'They  are  Confederates,'  Griffin  replied,  in- 
tensely excited.  '  As  certain  as  the  world,  they  are 
Confederates.' 

"  '  No,'  was  the  answer,  '  I  know  they  are  your 
battery  support. ' 

"  I  had  ridden  up  within  ear-shot,  and  levelled  my 
glass  upon  them.  '  Don't  fire,'  cried  Griffin,  and  he 
spurred  forward  to  satisfy  himself. 

"  At  the  same  moment  the  regiment,  now  within 
short  range,  by  a  sudden  instantaneous  act  levelled 
their  muskets  at  us.  I  saw  we  were  doomed,  and 
yet  by  some  instinct  tightened  my  rein  while  I  dug 
my  spurs  into  my  horse.  He  reared  instantly.  I 
saw  a  line  of  fire,  and  then  poor  Mayburn  fell  upon 
me,  quivered,  and  was  dead.  The  body  of  a  man 
broke  my  fall  in  such  a  way  that  I  was  not  hurt.  In- 
deed, at  the  moment  I  was  chiefly  conscious  of  in- 
tense anger  and  disgust.  If  Griffin  had  followed  his 
instinct  and  destroyed  that  regiment,  as  he  could 
have  done  by  one  discharge,  the  result  of  the  whole 
battle  might  have  been  different.  As  it  was,  both 
his  and  Rickett's  batteries  were  practically  anni- 
hilated."'^ 

*  Since  the  above  was  written  Colonel  Hasbrouck  has  given 
me  an  account  of  this  crisis  in  the  battle.  He  was  sufficiently 
near  to  hear  the  conversation  found  in  the  text,  and  to  enable  me 
to  supplement  it  by  fuller  details.  Captain  Griffin  emphatically  de- 
clared that  no  Union  regiment  could  possibly  come  from  that 
quarter,  adding,  "  They  are  dressed  in  gray." 


THE   LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  227 

The  major  uttered  an  imprecation. 

"  I  was  pinned  to  the  ground  by  the  weight  of  my 
horse,  but  not  so  closely  but  that  I  could  look 
around.     The  carnage  had  been  frightful.     But  few 


Major  Barry  with  equal  emphasis  asserted  that  they  were  National 
troops,  and  unfortunately  we  had  regiments  in  gray  uniforms.  See- 
ing that  Captain  Grifiin  was  not  convinced,  he  said  peremptorily, 
"  I  command  you  not  to  fire  on  that  regiment." 

Of  course  this  direct  order  ended  the  controversy,  and  Captain 
GrifBn  directed  that  his  guns  be  shifted  again  toward  the  main 
body  of  the  enemy,  whi't  he  rode  forward  a  little  space  to  recon- 
noitre. 

During  all  this  fatal  delay  the  Confederate  regiment  was  ap- 
proaching, marching  by  the  flank,  and  so  passed  at  one  time  with- 
m  point-blank  range  of  the  guns  that  would  scarcely  have  left  a 
man  upon  his  feet.  The  nature  of  their  advance  was  foolhardy 
m  the  extreme,  and  at  the  time  that  Captain  Griffin  wished  to  fire 
they  were  practically  helpless.  A  Virginia  worm-fence  was  in 
their  path,  and  so  frightened,  nervous,  and  excited  were  they  that, 
instead  of  tearing  it  down,  they  began  clambering  over  it  until  by 
weight  and  numbers  it  was  trampled  under  foot. 

They  approached  so  near  that  the  order  to  "  fire  low"  was  dis- 
tinctly heard  by  our  men  as  the  Confederates  went  into  battle-line 
formation. 

The  scene  follov/mg  their  volley  almost  defies  description.  The 
horses  attached  to  caissons  not  only  tore  down  and  through  the 
ascending  National  battle-line,  but  Colonel— then  Lieutenant — 
Hasbrouck  saw  several  teams  dash  over  the  knoll  toward  the 
Confederate  regiment,  that  opened  ranks  to  let  them  pass.  So 
novel  were  the  scenes  of  war  at  that  time  that  the  Confederates 
were  as  much  astonished  as  the  members  of  the  batteries  left  alive, 
and  at  first  did  not  advance,  although  it  was  evident  that  there  were, 
at  the  moment,  none  to  oppose  them.  The  storm  of  Rebel  bullets 
had  ranged  so  low  that  Lieutenant  Hasbrouck  and  Captain  Griffin 
owed  their  safety  to  the  fact  that  they  were  mounted.  The  horses 
of  both  officers  were  wounded.  On  the  way  down  the  northern 
slope  of  the  hill  with  the  few  Union  survivors.  Captain  Grifiin  met 


2  28  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

were  on  their  feet,  and  they  in  rapid  motion  to  the 
rear.  The  horses  left  alive  rushed  down  the  hill 
with  the  caissons,  spreading  dismay,  confusion,  and 
disorder  through  the  ascending  line  of  battle.  Our 
supporting  regiment  in  the  rear,  that  had  been  lying 
on  their  arms,  sprang  to  their  feet  and  stood  like  men 
paralyzed  with  horror ;  meanwhile,  the  Rebel  regi- 
ment, reinforced,  was  advancing  rapidly  on  the  dis- 
abled guns, — their  defenders  lay  beneath  and  around 
them, — firing  as  they  came.  Our  support  gave  them 
one  ineffectual  volley,  then  turned  and  fled." 

Again  the  major  relieved  his  mind  in  his  charac- 
teristic way. 

"  But  you,  Alford  ?"  cried  Grace,  leaning  forward 
with  clasped  hands,  while  his  aunt  came  and  buried 
her  face  upon  his  shoulder.  "Are  you  keeping 
your  promise  to  live  ?"  she  whispered. 

"Am  1  not  here  safe  and  sound?"  he  replied, 
cheerily. 

"  Nothing  much  happened  to  me,  Grace.  When 
I  saw  the  enemy  was  near,  I  merely  doubled  myself 
up  under  my  horse,  and  was  nothing  to  themi  but  a 
dead  Yankee.  I  was  only  somewhat  trodden  upon, 
as  I  told  you,  when  the  Confederates  tried  to  turn  the 
guns  against  our  forces. 

"  I  fear  I  am  doing  a  wrong  to  the  ladies  by  going 
into  these  sanguinary  details." 

Major  Barry,  and  in  his  intense  anger  and  grief  reproached  him 
biUerly.  The  laUer  gloomily  admitted  that  he  had  been  mistaken. 
Captain  Ricketts  was  wounded,  and  the  battle  subsequently 
surged  back  and  forth  over  his  prostrate  form,  but  eventually  he 
was  sent  as  a  captive  to  Richmond. 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  229 

"  No,"  said  the  major,  emphatically  ;  "  Mrs.  May- 
burn  would  have  been  a  general  had  she  been  a  man  ; 
and  Grace  has  heard  about  battles  all  her  life.  It's 
a  great  deal  better  to  understand  from  the  start 
what  this  war  means. " 

"  I  especially  wished  Hilland  to  hear  the  details 
of  this  battle  as  far  as  I  saw  them,  for  I  think  they 
contain  lessons  that  may  be  of  great  service  to  him. 
That  he  would  engage  in  the  war  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion from  the  first  ;  and  with  his  means  and  ability 
he  may  take  a  very  important  part  in  it.  But  of 
this  later. 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  made  the  rather  close  acquaint- 
ance of  your  kin,  Grace,  and  can  testify  that  the 
*  fa'  of  their  feet  '  was  not  *  fairy-like,'  Before  they 
could  accomplish  their  purpose  of  turning  the  guns 
on  our  lines,  I  heard  the  rushing  tramp  of  a  multi- 
tude, with  defiant  shouts  and  yells.  Rebels  fell 
around  me.  The  living  left  the  guns,  sought  to  form 
a  line,  but  suddenly  gave  way  in  dire  confusion,  and 
fled  to  the  cover  from  which  they  came.  A  moment 
later  a  body  of  our  men  surged  like  an  advancing 
wave  over  the  spot  they  had  occupied. 

"  Now  was  my  chance  ;  and  I  reached  up  and  seized 
the  hand  of  a  tall,  burly  Irishman. 

"  *  What  the  divil  du'  ye  want  ?  '  he  cried,  and  in 
his  mad  excitement  was  about  to  thrust  me  through 
for  a  Confederate. 

"  '  Halt  !  '  I  thundered.  The  familiar  word  of 
command  restrained  him  long  enough  for  me  to 
secure  his  attention.  *  Would  you  kill  a  Union 
man  ?  ' 


230  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

"  '  Is  it  Union  ye  are  ?  What  yez  doin'  here,  thin, 
widout  a  uniform  ?  ' 

"  I  showed  him  my  badge  of  correspondent,  and 
explained  briefly. 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  he  uttered  a 
loud,  jolly  laugh.  '  Faix,  an'  it's  a  writer  ye  are. 
Ye'll  be  apt  to  git  some  memmyrandums  the  day 
that  ye'll  carry  about  wid  ye  till  ye  die,  and  that 
may  be  in  about  a  minnit.  I'll  shtop  long  enough 
to  give  yez  a  lift,  or  yez  boss,  rather  ;  '  and  he 
seized  poor  Mayburn  by  the  head.  His  excite- 
ment seemed  to  give  him  the  strength  of  a  giant, 
for  in  a  moment  I  was  released  and  stood  erect. 

"  '  Give  me  a  musket,'  I  cried,  '  and  I'll  stand  by 
you.' 

"  '  Bedad,  hilp  yersilf,'  he  replied,  pushing  for- 
ward. '  There's  plenty  o'  fellers  lyin'  aroun'  that  has 
no  use  for  them  ;'  and  he  was  lost  in  the  confused 
advance. 

"  All  this  took  place  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
describe  it,  for  events  at  that  juncture  were  almost 
as  swift  as  bullets.  Lame  as  I  was,  I  hobbled  around 
briskly,  and  soon  secured  a  good  musket  with  a 
supply  of  cartridges.  As  with  the  rest,  my  blood 
was  up, — don't  smile,  Hilland  :  I  had  been  pretty 
cool  until  the  murderous  discharge  that  killed  my 
horse — and  I  was  soon  in  the  front  line,  firing  with 
the  rest. 

"  Excited  as  I  was,  I  saw  that  our  position  was 
desperate,  for  a  heavy  force  of  Confederates  was 
swarming  toward  us.  I  looked  around  and  saw  that 
part  of  our  men  were  trying  to  drag  off  the  guns. 


THE   LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  231 

This  seemed  the  more  important  work  ;  and  dis- 
cretion also  whispered  that  with  my  bruised  foot  I 
should  be  captured  in  five  minutes  unless  I  was 
farther  to  the  rear.  So  I  took  a  pull  at  a  gun  ;  but 
we  had  made  little  progress  before  there  was  another 
great  surging  wave  from  the  other  direction,  and 
our  forces  were  swept  down  the  hill  again,  I  along 
with  the  rest.  The  confusion  was  fearful  ;  the  regi- 
ments with  which  I  had  been  acting  went  all  to 
pieces,  and  had  no  more  organization  than  if  they 
had  been  mixed  up  by  a  whirlwind. 

"  I  was  becoming  too  lame  to  walk,  and  found  my- 
self in  a  serious  dilemma." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Hilland.  "  It  was  just 
becoming  serious,  eh  ?" 

"  Well,  I  didn't  realize  my  lameness  before  ;  and 
as  retreat  was  soon  to  be  the  order  of  the  day,  there 
was  little  prospect  of  my  doing  my  share.  As  I  was 
trying  to  extricate  myself  from  the  shattered  regi- 
ments, I  saw  a  riderless  horse  plunging  toward  me. 
To  seize  his  bridle  and  climb  into  the  saddle  was 
the  work  of  a  moment  ;  and  I  felt  that,  unlike  Mc- 
Dowell, I  was  still  master  of  the  situation.  Work- 
ing my  way  out  of  the  press  and  to  our  right,  I  saw 
that  another  charge  for  the  guns  by  fresh  troops 
was  in  progress.  It  seemed  successful  at  first.  The 
guns  were  retaken,  but  soon  the  same  old  story  was 
repeated,  and  a  corresponding  rush  from  the  other 
side  swept  our  men  back. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  this  capture  and  recapt- 
ure occurred  several  times.  A  single  regiment  even 
would  dash  forward,  and  actually  drive  the  Rebels 


232  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS, 

back,  only  to  lose  a  few  moments  later  what  they 
had  gained.  Never  was  there  braver  fighting,  never 
worse  tactics.  The  repeated  successes  of  small 
bodies  of  troops  proved  that  a  compact  battle  line 
could  have  swept  the  ridge,  and  not  only  retaken 
the  guns,  but  made  them  effective  in  the  con- 
flict. As  it  was,  the  two  sides  worried  and  tore  each 
other  like  great  dogs,  governed  merely  by  the  im- 
pulse and  instinct  of  fight.  The  batteries  were 
the  bone  between  them. 

"  This  senseless,  wasteful  struggle  could  not  go  on 
forever.  That  it  lasted  as  long  as  it  did  speaks 
volumes  in  favor  of  the  material  of  which  our  future 
soldiers  are  to  be  made.  As  I  rode  slowly  from  the 
line  and  scene  of  actual  battle,  of  v/hich  I  had  had 
enough,  I  became  disheartened.  We  had  men  in 
plenty, — there  were  thousands  on  every  side, — but 
in  what  condition  !  There  was  no  appearance  of 
fear  among  the  men  I  saw  at  about  four  P.M.  (I 
can  only  guess  the  time,  for  my  watch  had  stopped), 
but  abundant  evidence  of  false  confidence  and  still 
more  of  the  indifference  of  men  who  feel  they 
have  done  all  that  should  be  required  of  them  and 
are  utterly  fagged  out.  Multitudes,  both  officers 
and  privates,  were  lying  and  lounging  around  wait- 
ing for  their  comrades  to  finish  the  ball. 

"  For  instance,  I  would  ask  a  man  to  what  regi- 
ment he  belonged,  and  he  would  tell  me. 

"  '  Where  is  it  ?  * 

"  '  Hanged  if  I  know.  Saw  a  lot  of  the  boys 
awhile  ago.' 

"  Said  an  officer  in  answer  to  my  inquiries,  '  No  ; 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  233 

I  don't  know  where  the  colonel  is,  and  I  don't  care. 
After  one  of  our  charges  we  all  adjourned  like  a 
town  meeting.  I'm  played  out  ;  have  been  on  my 
feet  since  one  o'clock  last  night.' 

"  These  instances  were  characteristic  of  the  state 
of  affairs  in  certain  parts  of  the  field  that  I  visited. 
Plucky  or  conscientious  fellows  would  join  their 
comrades  in  the  fight  without  caring  what  regiment 
they  acted  with  ;  but  the  majority  of  the  great  dis- 
organized mass  did  what  they  pleased,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  country  fair,  crowding  in  all  instances  around 
places  where  water  could  be  obtained.  Great  num- 
bers had  thrown  away  their  canteens  and  provisions, 
as  too  heavy  to  carry  in  the  heat,  or  as  impediments 
in  action.  Officers  and  men  were  mixed  up  promis- 
cuously, hobnobbing  and  chaffing  in  a  languid  way, 
and  talking  over  their  experiences,  as  if  they  were 
neighbors  at  home.  The  most  wonderful  part  of  it 
all  was  that  they  had  no  sense  of  their  danger  and 
of  the  destruction  they  were  inviting  by  their  unsol- 
dierly  course. 

"  I  tried  to  impress  these  dangers  on  one  or  two, 
but  the  reply  was,  *  O,  hang  it.  The  Rebs  are  as 
badly  used  up  as  we  are.  Don't  you  see  things  are 
growing  more  quiet  ?     Give  us  a  rest  !' 

"  By  this  time  I  had  worked  my  way  well  to  my 
right,  and  was  on  a  little  eminence  watching  our 
line  advance,  wondering  at  the  spirit  with  which  the 
fight  was  still  maintained.  Indeed,  I  grew  hopeful 
once  more  as  I  saw  the  good  work  that  the  regi- 
ments still  intact  were  doing.  There  was  much  truth 
in  the  remark  that  the  Rebels  were  used  up  also, 


2  34  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

unless  they  had  reserves  of  which  we  knew  nothing. 
At  that  time  we  had  no  idea  that  we  had  been  fight- 
ing, not  only  Beauregard,  but  also  Johnson  from 
the  Shenandoah. 

"  My  hope  was  exceedingly  intensified  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  long  line  of  troops  emerging  from  the 
woods  on  our  flank  and  rear,  for  I  never  dreamed 
that  they  could  be  other  than  our  own  reinforce- 
ments. Suddenly  I  caught  sight  of  a  flag  which  I 
had  learned  to  know  too  well.  The  line  halted  a 
moment,  muskets  were  levelled,  and  I  found  myself 
in  a  perfect  storm  of  bullets.  I  assure  you  I  made 
a  rapid  change  of  base,  for  when  our  line  turned  I 
should  be  between  two  fires.  As  it  was,  I  was  cut 
twice  in  this  arm  while  galloping  away.  In  a  few 
moments  a  battery  also  opened  upon  our  flank  ;  and 
it  became  as  certain  as  day  that  a  large  Confederate 
force  from  some  quarter  had  been  hurled  upon  the 
flank  and  rear  of  our  exhausted  forces.  The  belief 
that  Johnson's  army  had  arrived  spread  like  wild- 
fire. How  absurd  and  crude  it  all  seems  now  !  We 
had  been  fighting  Johnson  from  the  first. 

"  All  aggressive  action  on  our  part  now  ceased  ; 
and  as  if  governed  by  one  common  impulse,  the  army 
began  its  retreat. 

"Try  to  realize  it.  Our  retirement  was  not 
ordered.  There  were  thousands  to  whom  no  order 
could  be  given  unless  with  a  voice  like  a  thunder 
peal.  Indeed,  one  ma-  say,  the  order  was  given  by 
the  thunder  of  that  b.ittcry  on  our  flank.  It  was 
heard  throughout  the  fcld  ;  and  the  army,  acting 
as  individuals  or  in  deLachments,  decided  to  leave. 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  235 

To  show  how  Utterly  bereft  of  guidance,  control, 
and  judgment  were  our  forces,  I  have  merely  to 
say  that  each  man  started  back  by  exactly  the  same 
route  he  had  come,  just  as  a  horse  would  do,  while 
right  before  them  was  the  Warrenton  Pike,  a  good, 
straight  road  direct  to  Centerville,  which  was  distant 
but  little  over  four  miles. 

"  This  disorganized,  exhausted  mob  was  as  truly 
in  just  the  fatal  condition  for  the  awful  contagion 
we  call  'panic'  as  it  would  have  been  from  improper 
food  and  other  causes  for  some  other  epidemic. 
The  Greeks,  who  always  had  a  reason  for  ever}^- 
thing,  ascribed  the  nameless  dread,  the  sudden  and 
unaccountable  fear,  which  bereaves  men  of  man- 
hood and  reason,  to  the  presence  of  a  god.  It  is 
simply  a  latent  human  weakness,  which  certain  con- 
ditions rarely  fail  to  develop.  They  were  all  present 
at  the  close  of  that  fatal  day.  I  tell  you  frankly 
that  I  felt  something  of  it  myself,  and  at  a  time, 
too,  when  I  knew  I  was  not  in  the  least  immediate 
danger.  To  counteract  it  I  turned  and  rode 
deliberately  toward  the  enemy,  and  the  emotion 
passed.  I  half  believe,  however,  that  if  I  had 
yielded,  it  would  have  carried  me  away  like  an 
attack  of  the  plague.  The  moral  of  it  all  is,  that 
the  conditions  of  the  disease  should  be  guarded 
against. 

*'  When  it  became  evident  that  the  army  was  un- 
controllable and  was  leaving  the  field,  I  pressed  my 
way  to  the  vicinity  of  McDowell  to  see  what  he 
would  do.  What  could  he  do  ?  I  never  saw  a  man 
so    overwhelmed    with     astonishment    and    anger. 


236  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

Almost  to  the  last  I  believe  he  expected  to  win  the 
day.  He  and  his  officers  commanded,  stormed, 
entreated.  He  might  as  well  have  tried  to  stop 
Niagara  above  the  falls  as  that  human  tide.  He  sent 
orders  in  all  directions  for  a  general  concentration  at 
Centerville,  and  then  with  certain  of  his  staff  gal- 
loped away.  I  tried  to  follow,  but  was  prevented 
by  the  interposing  crowd. 

"  I  then  joined  a  detachment  of  regulars  and  ma- 
rines, who  marched  quietly  in  prompt  obedience  of 
orders  ;  and  we  made  our  way  through  the  disorder 
like  a  steamer  through  the  surging  waves.  All  the 
treatises  on  discipline  that  were  ever  written  would 
not  have  been  so  convincing  as  that  little  oasis  of 
organization.  They  marched  very  slowly,  and  often 
halted  to  cover  the  retreat. 

"  I  had  now  seen  enough  on  the  farther  bank  of 
Bull  Run,  and  resolved  to  push  ahead  as  fast  as  my 
horse  would  walk  to  the  eastern  side.  Moreover, 
my  leg  and  wounds  were  becoming  painful,  and  I 
was  exceedingly  weary.  I  naturally  followed  the 
route  taken  by  Tyler's  command  in  coming  upon 
and  returning  from  the  field,  and  crossed  Bull  Run 
some  distance  above  the  Stone  Bridge.  The  way 
was  so  impeded  by  fugitives  that  my  progress  was 
slow,  but  when  I  at  last  reached  the  Warrenton  Turn- 
pike and  proceeded  toward  a  wretched  little  stream 
called  Cub  Run,  I  witnessed  a  scene  that  beggars 
description. 

"Throughout  the  entire  day,  and  especially  in 
the  afternoon,  vehicles  of  every  description — supply 
wagons,  ambulances,  and  the  carriages  of  civilians — 


THE   LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  237 

had  been  congregating  in  the  Pike  in  the  vicinity  of 
Stone  Bridge.  When  the  news  of  the  defeat 
reached  this  point,  and  the  roar  of  cannon  and  mus- 
ketry began  to  approach  instead  of  recede,  a  general 
movement  toward  Centerville  began.  This  soon 
degenerated  into  the  wildest  panic,  and  the  road  was 
speedily  choked  by  storming,  cursing,  terror-stricken 
men,  who,  in  their  furious  haste,  defeated  their  own 
efforts  to  escape.  It  was  pitiful,  it  was  shameful, 
to  see  ambulances  full  of  the  wounded  shoved  to  one 
side  and  left  by  the  cowardly  thieves  who  had  gal- 
loped away  on  the  horses.  It  was  one  long  scene  of 
wreck  and  ruin,  through  which  pressed  a  struggling, 
sweating,  cursing  throng.  Horses  with  their  traces 
cut,  and  carrying  two  and  even  three  men,  were  urged 
on  and  over  ever>^body  that  could  not  get  out  of 
the  way.  Everything  was  abandoned  that  would 
impede  progress,  and  arms  and  property  of  all  kinds 
were  left  as  a  rich  harvest  for  the  pursuing  Confed- 
erates. Their  cavalry  hovering  near,  like  hawks 
eager  for  the  prey,  made  dashes  here  and  there,  as 
opportunity  offered. 

"  I  picked  my  way  through  the  woods  rather  than 
take  my  chances  in  the  road,  and  so  my  progress 
was  slow.  To  make  matters  tenfold  worse,  I  found 
when  I  reached  the  road  leading  to  the  north 
through  the  '  Big  Woods  '  that  the  head  of  the 
column  that  had  come  all  the  way  around  by  Sud- 
ley's  Ford,  the  route  of  the  morning's  march,  was 
mingling  with  the  masses  already  thronging  the  Pike. 
The  confusion,  the  selfish,  remorseless  scramble  to 
get  ahead,  seemed  as  horrible  as  it  could  be  ;  but 


238  ins    SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

imagine  the  condition  of  affairs  when  on  reaching 
the  vicinity  of  Cub  Run  we  found  that  a  Rebel  bat- 
tery had  opened  upon  the  bridge,  our  only  visible 
means  of  crossing.  A  few  moments  later,  from  a 
little  eminence,  I  saw  a  shot  take  effect  on  a  team 
of  horses  ;  and  a  heavy  caisson  was  overturned 
directly  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge,  barring  all 
advance,  while  the  mass  of  soldiers,  civilians,  and 
nondesciipt  army  followers,  thus  detained  under 
fire,  became  perfectly  wild  with  terror.  The  caisson 
was  soon  removed,  and  the  throng  rushed  on. 

"  I  had  become  so  heart-sick,  disgusted,  and 
weary  of  the  whole  thing,  that  my  one  impulse  was 
to  reach  Centerville,  where  I  supposed  we  should 
make  a  stand.  As  I  wus  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Pike,  I  skirted  up  the  stream  with  a  number  of 
others  until  we  found  a  place  where  we  could 
scramble  across,  and  soon  after  we  passed  within  a 
brigade  of  our  troops  that  were  thrown  across  the 
road  to  check  the  probable  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 

"  On  reaching  Centerville,  we  found  everything 
in  the  direst  confusion.  Colonel  Miles,  who  com- 
manded the  reserves  at  that  point,  was  unfit  for 
the  position,  and  had  given  orders  that  had  imper- 
illed the  entire  army.  It  was  said  that  the  troops 
which  had  come  around  by  Sudley's  Ford  had  lost 
all  their  guns  at  Cub  Run  ;  and  the  fugitives  arriving 
were  demoralized  to  the  last  degree.  Indeed,  a  large 
part  of  the  army,  without  waiting  for  orders  or  pay- 
ing heed  to  any  one,  continued  their  flight  toward 
Washington.  Holding  the  bridle  of  my  horse  I  lay 
down  near  headquarters  to  rest  and  to  learn  what 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  239 

would  be  done.  A  council  of  war  was  held,  and  as 
the  result  we  were  soon  on  the  retreat  again.  The 
retreat,  or  panic-stricken  flight  rather,  had,  in  fact, 
never  ceased  on  the  part  of  most  of  those  who  had 
been  in  the  main  battle.  That  they  could  keep  up 
this  desperate  tramp  was  a  remarkable  example  of 
human  endurance  when  sustained  by  excitement, 
fear,  or  any  strong  emotion.  The  men  who  marched 
or  fled  on  Sunday  night  had  already  been  on  their 
feet  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  greater  part  of  them 
had  experienced  the  terrific  strain  of  actual  battle. 

"  My  story  has  already  been  much  too  long.  From 
the  daily  journals  you  have  learned  pretty  accurately 
what  occurred  after  we  reached  Centerville.  Richard- 
son's and  Blenker's  brigades  made  a  quiet  and 
orderly  retreat  when  all  danger  to  the  main  body 
was  over.  The  sick  and  wounded  were  left  behind 
with  spoils  enough  to  equip  a  good-sized  Confeder- 
ate army.  I  followed  the  headquarters  escort,  and 
eventually  made  my  way  into  Washington  in  the 
drenching  rain  of  Monday,  and  found  the  city 
crowded  with  fugitives  to  whom  the  loyal  people 
were  extending  unbounded  hospitality.  I  felt  ill 
and  feverish,  and  yielded  to  the  impulse  to  reach 
home  ;  and  I  never  acted  more  wisely. 

"  Now  you  have  the  history  of  my  first  battle  ; 
and  may  I  never  see  one  like  it  again.  And  yet  I 
believe  the  battle  of  Bull  Run  will  become  one 
of  the  most  interesting  studies  of  American  his- 
tory and  character.  On  our  side  it  was  not  di- 
rected by  generals,  according  to  the  rules  of  war. 
It  was  fought   by    Northern  men  after  their  own 


240  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

fashion  and  according  to  their  native  genius  ;  and 
I  shall  ever  maintain  that  it  was  fought  far  better 
than  could  have  been  expected  of  militia  who  knew 
less  of  the  practical  science  of  war  than  of  the  phil- 
osophy of  Plato. 

"  The  moral  of  my  story,  Hilland,  scarcely  needs 
pointing  ;  and  it  applies  to  us  both.  When  we  go, 
let  us  go  as  soldiers  ;  and  if  we  have  only  a  cor- 
poral's command,  let  us  lead  soldiers.  The  grand 
Northern  onset  of  which  you  have  dreamed  so  long 
has  been  made.  You  have  seen  the  result.  You 
have  the  means  and  ability  to  equip  and  command 
a  regiment.  Infuse  into  it  your  own  spirit  ;  and 
at  the  same  time  make  it  a  machine  that  will  hold 
together  as  long  as  you  have  a  man  left." 

"  Graham,"  said  Hilland,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
"there  is  no  resisting  the  logic  of  events.  You 
have  convinced  me  of  my  error,  and  I  shall  follow 
your  advice." 

"  And,  Grace,"  concluded  Graham,  "  believe  me, 
by  so  doing  he  adds  tenfold  to  his  chances  of  living 
to  a  good  old  age." 

*  *  Yes, ' '  she  said,  looking  at  him  gratefully  through 
tear-dimmed  eyes.  "You  have  convinced  me  of 
that  also." 

"  Instead  of  rushing  off  to  some  out-of-the-way 
place  or  camp,  he  must  spend  months  in  recruiting 
and  drilling  his  men  ;  and  you  can  be  with  him." 

"O  Alford  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  is  that  the  heavenly 
logic  of  your  long,  terrible  story  ?" 

"  It's  the  rational  logic  ;  you  could  not  expect  any 
other  kind  from  me." 


THE  LOGIC  OF  EVENTS.  241 

"Well,  Graham,"  ejaculated  the  major,  with  a 
long  sigh  of  relief,  "  I  wouldn't  have  missed  your  ac- 
count of  the  battle  for  a  year's  pay.  And  mark  my 
words,  young  men,  you  may  not  live  to  see  it,  or  I 
either,  but  the  North  will  win  in  this  fight.  That's 
the  fact  that  I'm  convinced  of  in  spite  of  the 
panic." 

"The  fact  that  I'm  convinced  of,"  said  Mrs. 
Mayburn  brusquely,  mopping  her  eyes  meanwhile, 
"  is  that  Alford  needs  rest.  I'm  going  to  take  him 
home  at  once."  And  the  young  man  seconded  her  in 
spite  of  all  protestations. 

"  Dear,  vigilant  old  aunty,"  said  Graham,  when 
they  were  alone,  "you  know  when  I  have  reached 
the  limit  of  endurance." 

"  Ah  !  Alford,  Alford,"  moaned  the  poor  woman, 
"  I  fear  you  are  seeking  death  in  this  war." 

He  looked  at  her  tenderly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  "  Hereafter  I  will  try  to  take  no  greater  risks 
than  a  soldier's  duties  require." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SELF-SENTENCED. 

DAYS,  weeks,  and  months  with  their  changes 
came  and  went.  Hilland,  with  characteristic 
promptness,  carried  out  his  friend's  suggestion  ;  and 
through  his  own  means  and  personal  efforts,  in  great 
measure,  recruited  and  equipped  a  regiment  of  caval- 
ry. He  was  eager  that  his  friend  should  take  a  com- 
mand in  it  ;  but  Graham  firmly  refused. 

**  Our  relations  are  too  intimate  for  discipline," 
he  said.  "  We  might  be  placed  in  situations  where- 
in our  friendship  would  embarrass  us." 

Grace  surmised  that  he  had  another  reason  ;  for, 
as  time  passed,  she  saw  less  and  less  of  him.  He 
had  promptly  obtained  a  lieutenancy  in  a  regiment 
that  was  being  recruited  at  Washington  ;  and  by 
the  time  her  husband's  regiment  reached  that  city, 
the  more  disciplined  organization  to  which  Graham 
was  attached  was  ordered  out  on  the  Virginia  picket 
line  beyond  Arlington  Heights. 

Hilland,  with  characteristic  modesty,  would  not 
take  the  colonelcy  of  the  regiment  that  he  chiefly 
had  raised  ;  but  secured  for  the  place  a  fine  officer 
of  the  regular  army,  and  contented  himself  with  a 


SELF-SENTENCED.  243 

captaincy.  "  Efficiency  of  the  service  is  what  I  am 
aiming  at,"  he  said.  "  I  would  much  rather  rise  by 
merit  from  the  ranks  than  command  a  brigade  by 
favor. ' ' 

Unlike  many  men  of  wealth,  he  had  a  noble  re- 
pugnance to  taking  any  public  advantage  of  it  ;  and 
the  numerous  officers  of  the  time  that  had  obtained 
their  positions  by  influence  were  his  detestation. 

Graham's  predictions  in  regard  to  Grace  were  ful- 
filled. For  long  months  she  saw  her  husband  almost 
daily,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  cloud  that  hung 
over  the  future,  it  would  have  been  one  of  the  happi- 
est periods  of  her  life.  She  saw  Hilland  engaged  in 
tasks  that  brought  him  a  deep  and  growing  satis- 
faction. She  saw  her  father  in  his  very  element. 
There  were  no  more  days  of  dulness  and  weariness 
for  him.  The  daily  journals  teemed  with  subjects 
of  interest,  and  with  their  aid  he  planned  innumer- 
able campaigns.  Military  men  were  coming  and 
going,  and  with  these  young  officers  the  veteran 
was  an  oracle.  He  gave  Hilland  much  shrewd 
advice  ;  and  even  when  it  was  not  good,  it  was  lis- 
tened to  with  deference,  and  so  the  result  was 
just  as  agreeable  to  the  major. 

What  sweeter  joy  is  there  for  the  aged  than  to  sit 
in  the  seat  of  judgment  and  counsel,  and  feel  that  the 
world  would  go  awry  were  it  not  for  the  guidance 
and  aid  of  their  experience  !  Alas  for  the  poor 
old  major,  and  those  like  him  !  The  world  does 
not  grow  old  as  they  do.  It  only  changes  and  be- 
comes more  vast  and  complicated.  What  was  wisest 
and  best  in  their  day  becomes  often  as  antiquated  as 


244  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

the  culverin  that  once  defended  castellated  ram- 
parts. 

Happily  the  major  had  as  yet  no  suspicion  of  this  ; 
and  when  he  and  Grace  accompanied  Hilland  and 
his  regiment  to  Washington,  the  measure  of  his  con- 
tent was  full.  There  he  could  daily  meet  other 
veterans  of  the  regular  service  ;  and  in  listening  to 
their  talk,  one  might  imagine  that  McClellan  had  only 
to  attend  their  sittings  to  learn  how  to  subdue  the 
rebellion  within  a  few  months.  These  veterans 
were  not  bitter  partisans.  General  Robert  E.  Lee 
was  "  Bob  Lee"  to  them  ;  and  the  other  chiefs  of 
the  Confederacy  were  spoken  of  by  some  familiar 
sobriquet,  acquired  in  many  instances  when  boys  at 
West  Point.  They  would  have  fought  these  old 
friends  and  acquaintances  to  the  bitter  end,  accord- 
ing to  the  tactics  of  the  old  school  ;  but  after  the 
battle,  those  that  survived  would  have  hobnobbed 
together  over  a  bottle  of  wine  as  sociably  as  if  they 
had  been  companions  in  arms. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  accompanied  the  major's  party  to 
Washington,  for,  as  she  said,  she  was  "hungry  for 
a  sight  of  her  boy."  As  often  as  his  duties  per- 
mitted, Graham  rode  in  from  the  front  to  see  her. 
But  it  began  to  be  noticed  that  after  these  visits  he 
ever  sought  some  perilous  duty  on  the  picket  line, 
or  engaged  in  some  dash  at  the  enemy  or  guerillas 
in  the  vicinity.  He  could  not  visit  his  aunt  with- 
out seeing  Grace,  whose  tones  were  now  so  gentle 
when  she  spoke  to  him,  and  so  full  of  her  heart's 
deep  gratitude,  that  a  renewal  of  his  old  fierce  fever 
of  unrest  was  the  result.      He  was  already  gaining  a 


SELF-SENTENCED.  245 

reputation  for  extreme  daring,  combined  with  un- 
usual coolness  and  vigilance  ;  and  before  the  cam- 
paign of  '62  opened  he  had  been  promoted  to  a  first 
lieutenancy. 

Time  passed  ;  the  angry  torrent  of  the  war  broad- 
ened and  deepened.  Men  and  measures  that  had 
stood  out  like  landmarks  were  ingulfed  and  for- 
gotten. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  friends  did  their 
duty  in  camp  and  field.  There  were  no  more  panics. 
The  great  organizer,  McClellan,  had  made  soldiers  of 
the  vast  army  ;  and  had  he  been  retained  in  the 
service  as  the  creator  of  armies  for  other  men  to 
lead,  his  labors  would  have  been  invaluable. 

At  last,  to  the  deep  satisfaction  of  Graham  and 
Hilland,  their  regiments  were  brigaded  together,  and 
they  frequently  met.  It  was  then  near  the  close  of 
the  active  operations  of  '62,  and  the  friends  now 
ranked  as  Captain  Graham  and  Major  Hilland.  Not- 
withstanding the  reverses  suffered  by  the  Union 
arms,  the  young  men's  confidence  was  unabated  as 
to  the  final  issue.  Hilland  had  passed  through 
several  severe  conflicts,  and  his  name  had  been 
mentioned  by  reason  of  his  gallantry,  and  Grace  be- 
gan to  feel  that  fate  could  never  be  so  cruel  as  to 
destroy  her  very  life  in  his  life.  She  saw  that  her 
father  exulted  more  over  her  husband's  soldierly  qual- 
ities than  in  all  his  wealth  ;  and  although  they  spent 
the  summer  heat  as  usual  at  the  seaside  with  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  the  hearts  of  all  three  were  following  two 
regiments  through  the  forests  and  fields  of  Virginia. 
Half  a  score   of  journals  were  daily  searched    for 


246  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

items  concerning  them,  and  the  arrival  of  the  mails 
was  the  event  of  the  day. 

There  came  a  letter  in  the  autumn  which  filled 
the  heart  of  Grace  with  immeasurable  joy  and  very, 
very  deep  sadness.  Mrs.  Mayburn  was  stricken  to 
the  heart,  and  would  not  be  comforted,  while  the 
old  major  swore  and  blessed  God  by  turns. 

The  cause  was  this.  The  brigade  with  which  the 
friends  were  connected  was  sent  on  a  rcconnois- 
sance,  and  they  felt  the  enemy  strongly  before  re- 
tiring, which  at  last  they  were  compelled  to  do  pre- 
cipitately. It  so  happened  that  Hilland  commanded 
the  rear-guard.  In  an  advance  he  ever  led  ;  on  a 
retreat  he  was  apt  to  keep  well  to  the  rear.  In  the 
present  instance  the  pursuit  had  been  prompt  and 
determined,  and  he  had  been  compelled  to  make 
more  than  one  repelling  charge  to  prevent  the  re- 
tiring column  from  being  pressed  too  hard.  His 
command  had  thus  lost  heavily,  and  at  last  over- 
whelming numbers  drove  them  back  at  a  gallop. 

Graham,  in  the  rear  of  the  main  column,  which 
had  just  crossed  a  small  wooden  bridge  over  a  wide 
ditch  or  little  run  through  the  fields,  saw  the  head- 
long retreat  of  Hilland's  men,  and  he  instantly  de- 
ployed his  company  that  he  might  check  the  close 
pursuit  by  a  volley.  As  the  Union  troopers  neared 
the  bridge  it  was  evidently  a  race  for  life  and  liberty, 
for  they  were  outnumbered  ten  to  one.  In  a  few 
moments  they  began  to  pour  over,  but  Hilland  did 
not  lead.  They  were  nearly  all  across,  but  their 
commander  was  not  among  them  ;  and  Graham  was 
wild  with  anxiety  as  he  sat  on  his  horse  at  the  right 


SELF-SENTENCED.  247 

of  his  line  waiting  to  give  the  order  to  fire.  Sud- 
denly, in  the  failing  light  of  the  evening,  he  saw 
Hilland  with  his  right  arm  hanging  helpless,  spur- 
ring a  horse  badly  blown  ;  while  gaining  fast  upon 
him  were  four  savage-looking  Confederates,  their 
feabres  emitting  a  steely,  deadly  sheen,  and  uplifted 
to  strike  the  moment  they  could  reach  him. 

With  the  rapidity  of  light,  Graham's  eye  measured 
the  distance  between  his  friend  and  the  bridge,  and 
his  instantaneous  conviction  was  that  Hilland  was 
doomed,  for  he  could  not  order  a  volley  without  kill- 
ing him  almost  to  a  certainty.  At  that  supreme  cri- 
sis, the  suggestion  passed  through  his  mind  like  a  lurid 
flash,  "  In  a  few  moments  Hilland  will  be  dead,  and 
Grace  may  yet  be  mine." 

Then,  like  an  avenging  demon,  the  thought  con- 
fronted him.  He  saw  it  in  its  true  aspect,  and  in 
an  outburst  of  self-accusing  fury  he  passed  the  death 
sentence  on  himself.  Snatching  out  the  long, 
straight  sword  he  carried,  he  struck  with  the  spur, 
the  noble  horse  he  bestrode,  gave  him  the  rein,  and 
made  straight  for  the  deep,  wide  ditch.  There  was 
no  time  to  go  around  by  the  bridge,  which  was  still 
impeded  by  the  last  of  the  fugitives. 

His  men  held  their  breath  as  they  saw  his  pur- 
pose. The  feat  seemed  impossible  ;  but  as  his 
steed  cleared  the  chasm  by  a  magnificent  bound,  a 
loud  cheer  rang  down  the  line.  The  next  moment 
Hilland,  who  had  mentally  said  farewell  to  his  wife, 
saw  Graham  passing  him  hke  a  thunderbolt.  There 
was  an  immediate  clash  of  steel,  and  then  the  fore- 
most pursuer  was  down,  cleft  to  the  jaw.     The  next 


245  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

shared  the  same  fate  ;  for  Graham,  in  what  he 
deemed  his  death  struggle,  had  almost  ceased  to  be 
human.  His  spirit,  stung  to  a  fury  that  it  had  never 
known  and  would  never  know  again,  blazed  in  his 
eyes  and  flashed  in  the  lightning  play  of  his  sword. 
The  two  other  pursuers  reined  up  their  steeds  and 
sought  to  attack  him  on  either  side.  He  threw  his 
own  horse  back  almost  upon  his  haunches,  and  was 
on  his  guard,  meaning  to  strike  home  the  moment 
the  fence  of  his  opponents  permitted.  At  this  in- 
stant, however,  there  were  a  dozen  shots  from  the 
swarming  Rebels,  that  were  almost  upon  him,  and 
he  and  his  horse  were  seen  to  fall  to  the  ground. 
Meantime  Hilland  had  instinctively  tried  to  rein  in 
his  horse,  that  he  might  return  to  the  help  of  his 
friend,  although  from  his  wound  he  could  render  no 
aid.  Some  of  his  own  men  who  had  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  in  a  sense  of  safety  had  regained  their 
wits,  saw  his  purpose,  and  dashing  back,  they 
formed  a  body-guard  around  him,  and  dragged  his 
horse  swiftly  beyond  the  line  of  battle. 

A  yell  of  anger  accompanied  by  a  volley  came 
from  Graham's  men  that  he  had  left  in  line,  and  a 
dozen  Confederate  saddles  were  emptied  ;  but  their 
return  fire  was  so  deadly,  and  their  numbers  were  so 
overwhelming,  that  the  officer  next  in  command  or- 
dered retreat  at  a  gallop.  Hilland,  in  his  anguish, 
would  not  have  left  his  friend  had  not  his  men  grasped 
his  rein  and  carried  him  off  almost  by  force.  Mean- 
while the  darkness  set  in  so  rapidly  that  the  pursuit 
soon  slackened  and  ceased. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  ride  back  to  their 


SELF-SENTENCED. 


249 


camp,  which  was  reached  late  at  night,  the  ardent- 
natured  Hilland  was  almost  demented.  He  wept, 
raved,  and  swore.  He  called  himself  an  accursed 
coward  that  he  had  left  the  friend  who  had  saved 
his  Hfe.  His  broken  arm  was  as  nothing  to  him, 
and  eventually  the  regimental  surgeon  had  to  ad- 
minister strong  opiates  to  quiet  him. 

When  late  the  next  day  he  awoke,  it  all  came 
back  to  him  with  a  dull  heavy  ache  at  heart.  Noth- 
ing could  be  done.  His  mind,  now  restored  to  its 
balance,  recognized  the  fact.  The  brigade  was 
under  orders  to  move  to  another  point,  and  he  was 
disabled  and  compelled  to  take  a  leave  of  absence 
until  fit  for  duty.  The  inexorable  mechanism  of 
military  life  moves  on,  without  the  slightest  regard 
for  the  individual  ;  and  Graham's  act  was  only  one 
of  the  many  heroic  deeds  of  the  war,  some  seen  and 
more  unnoted. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AN   EARLY   DREAM   FULFILLED. 

A  FEW  days  later  Grace  welcomed  her  husband 
with  a  long,  close  embrace,  but  with  stream- 
ing eyes  ;  while  he  bowed  his  head  upon  her  shoul- 
der and  groaned  in  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit. 

"  Next  to  losing  you,  Grace,"  he  said,  "  this  is 
the  heaviest  blow  I  could  receive  ;  and  to  think  that 
he  gave  his  life  for  me  !  How  can  I  ever  face  Mrs. 
Mayburn  ?" 

But  his  wife  comforted  him  as  only  she  knew  how 
to  soothe  and  bless  ;  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  saw  that  he 
was  as  sincere  a  mourner  as  herself.  Moreover  they 
would  not  despair  of  Graham,  for  although  he  had 
been  seen  to  fall,  he  might  only  have  been  wounded 
and  made  a  prisoner.  Thus  the  bitterness  of  their 
grief  was  mitigated  by  hope. 

This  hope  was  fulfilled  in  a  most  unexpected  way, 
by  a  cheerful  letter  from  Graham  himself ;  and  the 
explanation  of  this  fact  requires  that  the  story 
should  return  to  him. 

He  thought  that  the  sentence  of  death  which  he 
had  passed  upon  himself  had  been  carried  into 
effect.   He  had  felt  himself  falling,  and  then  there  had 


A  A'  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  251 

been  sudden  darkness.  Like  a  dim  taper  flickering 
in  the  night,  the  spark  of  Hfe  began  to  kindle  again. 
At  first  he  was  conscious  of  but  one  truth, — that  he 
was  not  dead.  Where  he  now  was,  in  this  world 
or  some  other,  what  he  now  was,  he  did  not  know  ; 
but  the  essential  ego,  Alford  Graham,  had  not 
ceased  to  exist.  The  fact  filled  him  with  a  dull, 
wondering  awe.  Memory  slowly  revived,  and  its 
last  impression  was  that  he  was  to  die  and  had  died, 
and  yet  he  was  not  dead. 

As  a  man's  characteristic  traits  will  first  assert 
themselves,  he  lay  still  and  feebly  tried  to  compre- 
hend it  all.  Suddenly  a  strange,  horrid  sound  smote 
upon  his  senses  and  froze  his  blood  with  dread.  It 
must  be  life  after  death,  for  only  his  mind  appeared 
to  have  any  existence.  He  could  not  move.  Again 
the  unearthly  sound,  which  could  not  be  a  human 
shriek,  was  repeated  ;  and  by  half-involuntary  and 
desperate  effort  he  started  up  and  looked  around. 
The  scene  at  first  was  obscure,  confused,  and  awful. 
His  eye  could  not  explain  it,  and  he  instinctively 
stretched  out  his  hands  ;  and  through  the  sense  of 
touch  all  that  had  happened  came  back  to  his  con- 
fused brain.  He  first  felt  of  himself,  passed  his 
hand  over  his  forehead,  his  body,  his  limbs  :  he  cer- 
tainly was  in  the  flesh,  and  that  to  his  awakening 
intelligence  meant  much,  since  it  accorded  with  his 
belief  that  life  and  the  body  were  inseparable.  Then 
he  felt  around  him  in  the  darkness,  and  his  hands 
touched  the  grassy  field.  This  fact  righted  him 
speedily.  As  in  the  old  fable,  when  he  touched  the 
earth  he  was  strong.     He  next  noted  that  his  head 


252  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

rested  on  a  smooth  rock  that  rose  but  Httle  above  the 
plain,  and  that  he  must  have  fallen  upon  it.  He  sat 
up  and  looked  around  ;  and  as  the  brain  gradually 
resumed  its  action  after  its  terrible  shock,  the  situa- 
tion became  intelligible.  The  awful  sounds  that  he 
had  heard  came  from  a  wounded  horse  that  was 
struggling  feebly  in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon, 
now  in  her  last  quarter.  He  was  upon  the  scene  of 
last  evening's  conflict,  and  the  obscure  objects  that 
lay  about  him  were  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  Yes, 
there  before  him  were  the  two  men  he  had  killed  ; 
and  their  presence  brought  such  a  strong  sense  of 
repugnance  and  horror  that  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  recoiled  away. 

He  looked  around.  There  was  not  a  living  object 
in  sight  except  the  dying  horse.  The  night  wind 
moaned  about  him,  and  soughed  and  sighed  as  if  it 
were  a  living  creature  mourning  over  the  scene. 

It  became  clear  to  him  that  he  had  been  left  as 
dead.  Yes,  and  he  had  been  robbed,  too  ;  for  be 
shivered,  and  found  that  his  coat  and  vest  were 
gone,  also  his  hat,  his  money,  his  watch,  and  his  boots. 
He  walked  unsteadily  to  the  little  bridge,  and  where 
he  had  left  his  line  of  faithful  men,  all  was  dark 
and  silent.  With  a  great  throb  of  joy  he  remem- 
bered that  Hilland  must  have  sped  across  that 
bridge  to  safety,  while  he  had  expiated  his  evil 
thought. 

He  then  returned  and  circled  around  the  place. 
He  was  evidently  alone  ;  but  the  surmise  occurred 
to  him  that  the  Confederates  would  return  in  the 
morning  to  bury  their  dead,  and  if  he  would  escape 


AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  253 

he  must  act  promptly.  And  yet  he  could  not  travel 
in  his  present  condition.  He  must  at  least  have 
hat,  coat,  and  boots.  His  only  respurce  was  to  take 
them  from  the  dead  ;  but  the  thought  of  doing  so 
was  horrible  to  him.  Reason  about  it  as  he  might, 
he  drew  near  their  silent  forms  with  an  uncontrol- 
lable repugnance.  He  almost  gave  up  his  purpose, 
and  took  a  few  hasty  steps  away,  but  a  thorn 
pierced  his  foot  and  taught  him  his  folly.  Then  his 
imperious  will  asserted  itself,  and  with  an  impreca- 
tion on  his  weakness  he  returned  to  the  nearest 
silent  form,  and  took  from  it  a  limp  felt  hat,  a  coat, 
and  a  pair  of  boots,  all  much  the  worse  for  wear  ; 
and  having  arrayed  himself  in  these,  started  on  the 
trail  of  the  Union  force. 

He  had  not  gone  over  a  mile  v/hen,  on  surmount- 
ing an  eminence,  he  saw  by  dying  fires  in  a  grove  be- 
neath him  that  he  was  near  the  bivouac  of  a  body  of 
soldiers.  He  hardly  hoped  they  could  be  a  detach- 
ment of  Union  men  ;  and  yet  the  thought  that  it 
was  possible  led  him  to  approach  stealthily  within 
ear-shot.  At  last  he  heard  one  patrol  speak  to  an- 
other in  unmistakable  Southern  accent,  and  he 
found  that  the  enemy  was  in  his  path. 

Silently  as  a  ghost  he  stole  away,  and  sought  to 
m.ake  a  wide  detour  to  the  left,  but  soon  lost  him.- 
self  hopelessly  in  a  thick  wood.  At  last,  wearied 
beyond  mortal  endurance,  he  crawled  into  what 
seemed  the  obscurest  place  he  could  find,  and  lay 
down  and  slept. 

The  sun  was  above  the  horizon  when  he  awoke, 
stiff,  sore,  and  hungry,  but  refreshed,  rested.     A  red 


254  fllS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

squirrel  was  barking  at  him  derisively  from  a  bough 
near,  but  no  other  evidences  of  life  were  to  be  seen. 
Sitting  up,  he  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts  and  de- 
cide upon  his  course.  It  at  once  occurred  to  him 
that  he  would  be  missed,  and  that  pursuit  might  be 
made  with  hounds.  At  once  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  made  his  way  toward  a  valley,  which  he  hoped 
would  be  drained  by  a  running  stream.  The  wel- 
come sound  of  water  soon  guided  him,  and  pushing 
through  the  underbrush  he  drank  long  and  deeply, 
bathed  the  ugly  bruise  on  his  head,  and  then  waded 
up  its  current. 

He  had  not  gone  much  over  half  a  mile  before  he 
saw  through  an  opening  a  negro  gazing  wonderingly 
at  him.      "  Come  here,  my  good  fellow,"  he  cried. 

The  man  approached  slowly,  cautiously. 

"  I  won't  hurt  you,"  Graham  resumed  ;  "  indeed 
you  can  see  that  I'm  in  your  power.  Won't  you 
help  me  ?" 

"  Dunno,  Mas'r,"  was  the  non-committal  reply. 

"  Are  you  in  favor  of  Lincoln's  men  or  the  Con- 
federates ?" 

**  Dunno,  Mas'r.     It  'pends." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  ?" 

"On  whedder  you'se  a  Linkum  man  or  'Feder- 
ate." 

"  Well,  then,  here's  the  truth.  The  Lincoln  men 
are  your  best  friends,  if  you've  sense  enough  to 
know  it  ;  and  I'm  one  of  them.  I  was  in  the  fight 
off  there  yesterday,  and  am  trying  to  escape." 

"O  golly!  I'se  sense  enough;"  and  the  genial 
gleam  of  the  man's  ivory  was  an  omen  of  good  to 


AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  255 

Graham.    "But,"    queried    the    negro,    '"how   you 
wear  'Federate  coat  and  hat  ?" 

"  Because  I  was  left  for  dead,  and  mine  were 
stolen.  I  had  to  wear  something.  The  Confed- 
erates don't  wear  blue  trousers  like  these." 

"  Dat's  so  ;  an'  I  knows  yer  by  yer  talk  and  look. 
I  knows  a  'Federate  well  as  I  does  a  coon.  But 
dese  yere's  mighty  ticklish  times  ;  an'  a  nigger  hab 
no  show  ef  he's  foun'  meddlin'.  What's  yer  gwine 
ter  do  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  can  advise  me.  I'm  afraid  they'll 
put  hounds  on  my  trail." 

"  Dat  dey  will,  if  dey  misses  yer." 

"  Well,  that's  the  reason  I'm  here  in  the  stream. 
But  I  can't  keep  this  up  long.  I'm  tired  and  hungry. 
I've  heard  that  you  people  befriended  Lincoln's 
men.  We  are  going  to  win,  and  now's  the  time 
for  you  to  make  friends  with  those  who  will  soon 
own  this  country." 

"  Ob  corse,  you'se  a  gwine  ter  win.  Linkum  is  de 
Moses  we're  all  a  lookin'  ter.  At  all  our  meetins 
we'se  a  prayin'  for  him  and  to  him.  He's  de 
Lord's  right  han'  to  lead  we  alls  out  ob  bondage." 

'^'  Well,    I  swear  to  you  I'm  one  of  his  men." 

*'  I  knows  you  is,  and  I'se  a  gwine  to  help  you, 
houn's  or  no  houn's.  Keep  up  de  run  a  right  smart 
ways,  and  you'se  '11  come  ter  a  big  flat  stun.'  Stan" 
dar  in  de  water,  an  I'll  be  dar  wid  help. ' '  And  the 
man  disappeared  in  a  long  swinging  run. 

Graham  did  as  he  was  directed,  and  finally 
reached  a  flat  rock,  from  which  through  the  thick 
bordering  growth  something  like  a  path  led  away. 


256  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

He  waited  until  his  patience  was  well  nigh  ex- 
hausted, and  then  heard  far  back  upon  his  trail  the 
faint  bay  of  a  hound.  He  was  about  to  push  his 
way  on  up  the  stream,  when  there  was  a  sound  of 
hasty  steps,  and  his  late  acquaintance  with  another 
stalwart  fellow  appeared. 

"  Dere's  no  time  ter  lose,  Mas'r.  Stan'  whar 
you  is,"  and  in  a  moment  he  splashed  in  beside  him. 
"  Now  get  on  my  back.  Jake  dar  will  spell  me 
when  I  wants  him  ;  fer  yer  feet  musn't  touch  de 
groun';"  and  away  they  went  up  the  obscure  path. 

This  was  a  familiar  mode  of  locomotion  to  Gra- 
ham, for  he  had  been  carried  thus  by  the  hour  over 
the  mountain  passes  of  Asia.  They  had  not  gone 
far  before  they  met  two  or  three  colored  women  with 
a  basket  of  clothes. 

"  Dat's  right,"  said  Graham's  conveyance  ;  "  wash 
away  right  smart,  and  dunno  nothin'.  Yer  see,"  he 
continued,  "  dis  yer  is  Sunday,  and  we'se  not  in  de 
fields,  an  de  women  folks  can  help  us  ;"  and  Graham 
thought  that  the  old  superstition  of  a  Sabbath  had 
served  him  well  for  once. 

They  soon  left  the  path  and  entered  some  very 
heavy  timber,  through  an  opening  of  which  he  saw 
the  negro  quarters  and  plantation  dwellings  in  the 
distance. 

At  last  they  stopped  before  an  immense  tree. 
Some  brush  was  pushed  aside,  revealing  an  aperture 
through  which  Graham  was  directed  to  crawl,  and 
he  found  himself  within  a  heart  of  oak. 

"  Dar's  room  enough  in  dar  ter  sit  down,"  said  his 
sable  friend.      "An'  you'se  '11  find  a  jug  ob  milk 


AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  257 

an'  a  pone  ob  corn  meal.  Luck  ter  yen  Don't  git 
lonesome  like,  and  come  out.  We'se  a  gvvine  ter 
look  arter  yer  ;"  and  the  opening  was  hidden  by 
brush  again,  and  Graham  was  left  alone. 

From  a  small  aperture  above  his  head  a  pencil  of 
sunlight  traversed  the  gloom,  to  which  his  eyes  soon 
grew  accustomed,  and  he  saw  a  rude  seat  and  the 
food  mentioned.  By  extending  his  feet  slightly 
through  the  opening  by  which  he  had  entered,  he 
found  the  seat  really  comfortable  ;  and  the  coarse 
fare  was  ambrosial  to  his  ravenous  appetite.  In- 
deed, he  began  to  enjoy  the  adventure.  His  place 
of  concealment  was  so  unexpected  and  ingenious 
that  it  gave  him  a  sense  of  security.  He  had  ever 
had  a  great  love  for  trees,  and  now  it  seemed  as  if 
one  had  opened  its  very  heart  to  hide  him. 

Then  his  hosts  and  defenders  interested  him  ex- 
ceedingly. By  reason  of  residence  in  New  England 
and  his  life  abroad,  he  was  not  familiar  with  the  negro, 
especially  his  Southern  type.  Their  innocent  guile 
and  preposterous  religious  belief  amused  him.  He 
both  smiled  and  wondered  at  their  faith  in  "  Lin- 
kum,"  whom  at  that  time  he  regarded  as  a  long- 
headed, uncouth  Western  politician,  who  had  done 
not  a  little  mischief  by  interfering  with  the  army. 

"  It  is  ever  so  with  all  kinds  of  superstition  and 
sentimental  belief,"  he  soliloquized.  "  Some  con- 
ception of  the  mind  is  embodied,  or  some  object  is 
idealized  and  magnified  until  the  original  is  lost 
sight  of,  and  men  come  to  worship  a  mere  fancy  of 
their  own.  Then  some  mind,  stronger  and  more 
imaginative  than  the  average,  gives  shape  and  form 


258  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

to  this  confused  image  ;  and  so  there  grows  in  time 
a  belief,  a  theology,  or  rather  a  mythology.  To 
think  that  this  Lincoln,  whom  I've  seen  in  atti- 
tudes anything  but  divine,  and  telling  broad,  coarse 
stories, — to  think  that  he  should  be  a  demigod, 
antitype  of  the  venerated  Hebrew  !  In  truth  it 
leads  one  to  suspect,  according  to  analogy,  that 
Moses  was  a  money-making  Jew,  and  his  effort  to 
lead  his  people  to  Palestine  an  extensive  land  specu- 
lation." 

Graham  lived  to  see  the  day  when  he  acknowl- 
edged that  the  poor  negroes  of  the  most  remote 
plantations  had  a  truer  conception  of  the  grand  pro- 
portions of  Lincoln's  character  at  that  time  than  the 
majority  of  his  most  cultivated  countrymen. 

His  abstract  speculations  were  speedily  brought 
to  a  close  by  the  nearer  baying  of  hounds  as  they 
surmounted  an  eminence  over  which  lay  his  trail. 
On  came  the  hunt,  with  its  echoes  rising  and  falling 
with  the  wind  or  the  inequalities  of  the  ground, 
until  it  burst  deep-mouthed  and  hoarse  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill  that  sloped  to  the  stream.  Then 
there  Vv^ere  confused  sounds,  both  of  the  dogs  and  of 
men's  voices,  which  gradually  approached  until  there 
was  a  pause,  caused  undoubtedly  by  a  colloquy  with 
Aunt  Sheba  and  her  associate  washerwomen.  It 
did  not  last  very  long  ;  and  then,  to  Graham's  dis- 
may, the  threatening  sounds  were  renewed,  and 
seemed  coming  directly  toward  him.  He  soon  gave 
up  all  hope,  and  felt  that  he  had  merely  to  con- 
gratulate himself  that,  from  the  nature  of  his  hiding- 
place,  he   could   not  be  torn  by  the  dogs,  when  he 


A.V  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  259 

perceived  that  the  hunt  was  coming  no  nearer, — in 
brief,  that  it  was  passing.  He  then  understood  that 
his  refuge  must  be  near  the  bed  of  the  stream,  from 
which  his  pursuers  were  seeking  on  either  side  his 
diverging  trail.  This  fact  relieved  him  at  once, 
and  quietly  he  listened  to  the  sounds,  dying  away  as 
they  had  come. 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  the  ray  of  light  sloped 
downward  until  it  disappeared  ;  and  in  the  profound 
gloom  and  quiet  he  fell  asleep.  He  was  awaked  by 
hearing  a  voice  call,  "  Mas'r." 

Looking  down  he  saw  that  the  brush  had  been 
removed,  and  that  the  opening  was  partially  ob- 
structed by  a  goblin-like  head  with  little  horns  rising 
all  over  it. 

"Mas'r,"  said  the  apparition,  "Aunt  Sheba 
sends  you  dis,  and  sez  de  Lord  be  wid  you." 

"  Thanks  for  Aunt  Sheba,  and  you  too,  whatever 
you  are,"  cried  Graham  ;  and  to  gratify  his  curiosity 
he  sprang  down  on  his  knees  and  peered  out  in  time 
to  see  a  little  negro  girl  replacing  the  brush,  while 
what  he  had  mistaken  for  horns  was  evidently  the 
child's  manner  of  wearing  her  hair.  He  then  gave  his 
attention  to  the  material  portion  of  Aunt  Sheba's 
offering,  and  found  a  rude  sort  of  platter,  or  low 
basket,  made  of  corn  husks,  and  in  this  another  jug 
of  milk,  corn  bread,  and  a  delicious  broiled  chicken 
done  to  that  turn  of  perfection  of  which  only  the 
colored  aunties  of  the  South  are  capable. 

"Well!"  ejaculated  Graham.  "From  this  day 
I'm  an  abolitionist,  a  Republican  of  the  blackest 
dye."     A  little  later  he  added,  "  Any  race  that  can 


26o  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

produce  a  woman  capable  of  such  cookery  as  this 
has  a  future  before  it." 

Indeed,  the  whole  affair  was  taking  such  an 
agreeable  turn  that  he  was  inclined  to  be  jocular. 

After  another  long  sleep  in  the  afternoon,  he  was 
much  refreshed,  and  eager  to  rejoin  his  command. 
But  Issachar  or  Iss,  as  his  associates  called  him,  the 
negro  who  had  befriended  him  in  the  first  instance, 
came  and  explained  that  the  whole  country  was  full 
of  Confederates  ;  and  that  it  might  be  several  days 
before  it  would  be  safe  to  seek  the  Union  lines. 

"  We'se  all  lookin'  out  fer  yer,  Mas'r,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "you  won't  want  for  nothin'.  An' we 
won't  kep  yer  in  dis  woodchuck  hole  arter  nine  ob 
de  ev'nin'.  Don't  try  ter  come  out.  I'm  lookin' 
t'oder  way  while  I'se  a  talkin'.  Mean  niggers  an' 
'Federates  may  be  spyin'  aroun'.  But  I  reckon 
not  ;  I'se  laid  in  de  woods  all  day,  a  watchin'. 

"  Now  I  tell  yer  what  'tis,  Mas'r,  I'se  made  up 
my  mine  to  put  out  ob  heah.  I'se  gwine  ter  jine  de 
Linkum  men  fust  chance  I  gits.  An'  if  yer'll  wait 
an'  trus'  me,  I'll  take  yer  slick  and  clean  ;  fer  I  know 
dis  yer  countr}^  and  ebery  hole  whar  ter  hide  well  as 
a  fox.  If  I  gits  safe  ter  de  Linkum  folks,  yer'll  say 
a  good  word  fer  Iss,  I  reckon." 

"  Indeed,  I  will.  If  you  wish,  I'll  take  you  into 
my  own  service,  and  pay  you  good  wages." 

"  Done,  by  golly  ;  and  when  dey  cotch  us,  dey'U 
cotch  a  weasel  asleep." 

"  But  haven't  you  a  wife  and  children  ?" 

"  O,  yah.  I'se  got  a  wife,  an'  I'se  got  a  lot  ob 
chillen  somewhar   in  de  'Fed'racy  ;    but   I'll  come 


AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  261 

wid  you  uns  bime  by,  an'  gedder  up  all  I  can  fine. 
"  I'se  '11  come  'long  in  de  shank  ob  de  ev'nin', 
Mas'r,  and  guv  yer  a  shakedown  in  my  cabin,  an' 
I'll  watch  while  yer  sleeps.  Den  I'll  bring  yer  back 
heah  befo' light  in  de  mavvnin'." 

The  presence  of  Confederate  forces  required  these 
precautions  for  several  days,  and  Iss  won  Graham's 
whole  heart  by  his  unwearied  patience  and  vigilance. 
But  the  young  man  soon  prevailed  on  the  faithful 
fellow  to  sleep  nights  while  he  watched  ;  for  after 
the  long  inaction  of  the  day  he  was  almost  wild  for 
exercise.  Cautious  Iss  would  have  been  nearly 
crazed  with  anxiety  had  he  known  of  the  reconnais- 
sances in  which  his  charge  indulged  while  he  slept. 
Graham  succeeded  in  making  himself  fully  master  of 
the  disposition  of  the  Rebel  forces  in  the  vicinity, 
and  eventually  learned  that  the  greater  part  of  them 
had  been  withdrawn.  When  he  had  communicated 
this  intelligence  to  Iss,  they  prepared  to  start  for  the 
Union  lines  on  the  following  night,  which  proved  dark 
and  stormy. 

Iss,  prudent  man,  kept  the  secret  of  his  flight 
from  even  his  wife,  and  satisfied  his  marital  com- 
punctions by  chucking  her  under  the  chin  and  call- 
ing her  "  honey"  once  or  twice  while  she  got  sup- 
per for  him.  At  eight  in  the  evening  he  summoned' 
Graham  from  his  hiding-place,  and  led  him,  with 
almost  the  unerring  instinct  of  some  wild  creature  of 
the  night,  due  north-east,  the  direction  in  which  the 
Union  forces  were  said  to  be  at  that  time.  It  was  a 
long,  desolate  tramp,  and  the  dawn  found  them 
drenched   and  weary.     But   the   glorious   sun  rose 


262  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

warm  and  bright,  and  in  a  hidden  glade  of  the  forest 
they  dried  their  clothes,  rested  and  refreshed  them- 
selves. After  a  long  sleep  in  a  dense  thicket  they 
were  ready  to  resume  their  journey  at  nightfall. 
Iss  proved  an  invaluable  guide,  for,  concealing  Gra- 
ham, he  would  steal  away,  communicate  with  the 
negroes,  and  bring  fresh  provisions. 

On  the  second  night  he  learned  that  there  was  a 
Union  force  not  very  far  distant  to  the  north  of 
their  line  of  march.  Graham  had  good  cause  to 
wonder  at  the  sort  of  freemasonry  that  existed  among 
the  negroes,  and  the  facility  with  which  they  ob- 
tained and  transmitted  secret  intelligence.  Still 
more  had  he  reason  to  bless  their  almost  universal 
fidelity  to  the  Union  cause. 

Another  negro  joined  them  as  guide,  and  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning  they  approached  the  Union 
pickets.  Graham  deemed  it  wise  to  wait  till  they 
could  advance  openly  and  boldly  ;  and  by  nine 
o'clock  he  was  received  with  acclamations  by  his  own 
regiment  as  one  risen  from  the  dead. 

After  congratulations  and  brief  explanations  were 
over,  his  first  task  was  to  despatch  the  two  brief  let- 
ters mentioned,  to  his  aunt  and  Hilland,  in  time  to 
catch  the  daily  mail  that  left  their  advanced  posi- 
tion. Then  he  saw  his  brigade  commander,  and 
made  it  clear  to  him  that  with  a  force  of  about  two 
regiments  he  could  strike  a  heavy  blow  against  the 
Confederates  whom  he  had  been  reconnoitring  ;  and 
he  offered  to  act  as  guide.  His  proposition  was  ac- 
cepted, and  the  attacking  force  started  that  very 
night.     By  forced  marches  they  succeeded  in  sur- 


AN  EARLY  DREAM  FULFILLED.  263 

prising  the  Confederate  encampment  and  in  captur- 
ing a  large  number  of  prisoners.  Iss  also  surprised 
his  wife  and  Aunt  Sheba  even  more  profound- 
ly, and  before  their  exclamations  ceased  he  had 
bundled  them  and  their  meagre  belongings  into  a 
mule  cart,  with  such  of  the  "  chillen"  as  had  been 
left  to  them,  and  was  following  triumphantly  in  the 
wake  of  the  victorious  Union  column  ;  and  not  a 
few  of  their  sable  companions  kept  them  company. 

The  whole  affair  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  episodes  of  the  campaign  ;  and  Graham  re- 
ceived much  credit,  not  only  in  the  official  re- 
ports, but  in  the  press.  Indeed,  the  latter,  although 
with  no  aid  from  the  chief  actor,  obtained  an  outline 
of  the  whole  story,  from  the  rescue  of  his  friend  to 
his  guidance  of  the  successful  expedition,  and  it  was 
repeated  with  many  variations  and  exaggerations. 
He  cared  little  for  these  brief  echoes  of  fame  ;  but 
the  letters  of  his  aunt,  Hilland,  and  even  the  old 
major,  were  valued  indeed,  while  a  note  from  the 
grateful  wife  became  his  treasure  of  treasures. 

They  had  returned  some  time  before  to  the  St. 
John  Cottage,  and  she  had  at  last  written  him  a  let- 
ter "  straight  from  her  heart,"  on  the  quaint  secre- 
tary in  the  library,  as  he  had  dreamed  possible  on  the 
first  evening  of  their  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

UNCHRONICLED   CONFLICTS. 

GRAHAM'S  friends  were  eager  that  he  should 
obtain  leave  of  absence,  but  he  said,  "  No, 
not  until  some  time  in  the  winter." 

His  aunt  understood  him  sufficiently  well  not  to 
urge  the  matter,  and  it  may  be  added  that  Grace 
did  also. 

Hilland's  arm  healed  rapidly,  and  happy  as  he  was 
in  his  home  life  at  the  cottage  he  soon  began  to 
chafe  under  inaction.  Before  very  long  it  became 
evident  that  the  major  had  not  wholly  outlived  his 
influence  at  Washington,  for  there  came  an  order 
assigning  Major  Hilland  to  duty  in  that  city  ;  and 
thither,  accompanied  by  Grace  and  her  father,  he  soon 
repaired.  The  arrangement  proved  very  agreeable 
to  Hilland  during  the  period  when  his  regiment 
could  engage  in  little  service  beyond  that  of  dreary 
picket  duty.  He  could  make  his  labors  far  more 
useful  to  the  government  in  the  city,  and  could  also 
enjoy  domestic  life  with  his  idolized  wife.  Mrs. 
Mayburn  promised  to  join  them  after  the  holidays, 
and  the  reason  for  her  delay  was  soon  made  evident. 

One  chilly,  stormy  evening,  Vv'lien  nature  v/a^  in  a 


UNCHRONICLED    CONFLICTS.  265 

most  uncomfortable  mood,  a  card  was  brought  to  the 
door  of  Hilland's  rooms  at  their  inn  just  as  he,  with 
his  wife  and  the  major,  was  sitting  down  to  one  of 
those  exquisite  Httle  dinners  which  only  Grace  knew 
how  to  order.  Hilland  glanced  at  the  card,  and 
gave  such  a  shout  that  the  waiter  nearly  fell  over 
backward. 

"  Where  is  the  gentleman  ?  Take  me  to  him  on 
the  double-quick.  It's  Graham.  Hurrah!  I'll  order 
another  dinner!"  and  he  vanished,  chasing  the 
man  down-stairs  and  into  the  waiting-room,  as  if  he 
were  a  detachment  of  Confederate  cavalry.  The  de- 
corous people  in  the  hotel  parlor  were  astounded  as 
Hilland  nearly  ran  over  the  breathless  waiter  at  the 
door,  dashed  in  like  a  whirlwind,  and  carried  off 
his  friend,  laughing,  chaffing,  and  embracing  him  all 
the  way  up  the  stairs.  It  was  the  old,  wild  exuber- 
ancy of  his  college  days,  only  intensified  by  the 
deepest  and  most  grateful  emotion. 

Grace  stood  within  her  door  blushing,  smiling,  and 
with  tears  of  feeling  in  her  lovely  eyes. 

"  Here  he  is,"  cried  Hilland, — "  the  very  god  of 
war.  Give  him  his  reward,  Grace, — a  kiss  that  he 
will  feel  to  the  soles  of  his  boots." 

But  she  needed  no  prompting,  for  instead  of  tak- 
ing Graham's  proffered  hand,  she  put  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders  and  kissed  him  again  and  again,  ex- 
claiming, "  You  saved  Warren's  life  ;  you  virtually 
gave  yours  for  his  ;  and  in  saving  him  you  saved 
me.      May  God  bless  you  every  hour  you  live  !" 

"  Grace,"  he  said  gravely  and  gently,  looking 
down   into    her  swimming  eyes  and   retaining   her 


266  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

hands  in  a  strong,  warm  clasp,  "  I  am  repaid  a  thou- 
sandfold. I  think  this  is  the  happiest  moment  of 
my  life  ;"  and  then  he  turned  to  the  major,  who  was 
scarcely  less  demonstrative  in  his  way  than  Hilland 
had  been. 

"  By  Jove  !"  cried  the  veteran,  "  the  war  is  going 
to  be  the  making  of  you  j-'oung  fellows.  Why,  Gra- 
ham, you  no  more  look  like  the  young  man  that 
played  whist  with  me  years  since  than  I  do.  You 
have  grown  broad-shouldered  and  distmgui,  and  you 
have  the  true  military  air  in  spite  of  that  quiet  civil- 
ian's dress." 

"  O,  I  shall  always  be  comparatively  insignifi- 
cant," replied  Graham,  laughing.  '*  Wait  till  Hil- 
land wears  the  stars,  as  he  surely  will,  and  then  you'll 
see  a  soldier." 

"  We  see  far  more  than  a  soldier  in  you,  Alford," 
said  Grace,  earnestly.  "  Your  men  told  Warren  of 
your  almost  miraculous  leap  across  the  ditch  ;  and 
Warren  has  again  and  again  described  your  appear- 
ance as  you  rushed  by  him  on  his  pursuers.  O, 
I've  seen  the  whole  thing  in  my  dreams  so  often  !" 

"  Yes,  Graham  ;  you  looked  like  one  possessed. 
You  reminded  me  of  the  few  occasions  when,  in  old 
college  days,  you  got  into  a  fury." 

A  frown  as  black  as  night  lowered  on  Graham's 
brow,  for  they  were  recalling  the  most  hateful  mem- 
ory of  his  life, — a  thought  for  which  he  felt  he  ought 
to  die  ;  but  it  passed  almost  instantly,  and  in  the 
most  prosaic  tones  he  said,  "  Good  friends,  I'm 
hungry.  I've  splashed  through  Virginia  mud  twelve 
mortal  hours  to-day.      Grace,  be  prepared  for  such 


UNCHRONICLED    CONFLICTS.  267 

havoc  as  only  a  cavalryman  can  make.  We  don't 
get  such  fare  as  this  at  the  front." 

She,  with  the  pretty  housewifely  bustle  which  he 
had  admired  years  ago,  rang  the  bell  and  made  prep- 
arations for  a  feast. 

"  Every  fatted  calf  in  Washington  should  be  killed 
for  you,"  she  cried, — "  prodigal  that  you  are,  but 
only  in  brave  deeds.  Where's  Iss  ?  I  want  to  see 
and  feast  him  also." 

"  I  left  him  well  provided  for  in  the  lower  regions, 
and  astounding  the  '  cuUud  bredren  '  with  stories 
which  only  the  African  can  swallow.  He  shall  come 
up  by  and  by,  for  I  have  my  final  orders  to  give. 
He  leads  my  horse  back  to  the  regiment  in  the 
morning,  and  takes  care  of  him  in  my  absence.  I 
hope  to  spend  a  month  with  aunt." 

"And  how  much  time  v/ith  us?"  asked  Hilland, 
eagerly. 

"  This  evening." 

"  Now,  Graham,  I  protest^ — " 

"  Now,  Hilland,  I'm  ravenous,  and  here's  a  din- 
ner fit  for  the  Great  Mogul." 

"  O,  I  know  you  of  old.  When  you  employ  a 
certain  tone  you  intend  to  have  your  own  way  ;  but 
it  isn't  fair." 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart.  I'll  make  another  raid  on 
you  when  I  return,  and  then  we  shall  soon  be  at  the 
front  together  again.     Aunty's  lonely,  you  know." 

"  Grace  and  I  don't  count,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
major.  "  I  had  a  thousand  questions  to  ask  you  ;" 
and  he  looked  so  aggrieved  that  Graham  compro- 
mised and  promised  to  spend  the  next  day  with  him. 


268  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Then  he  gave  an  almost  hilarious  turn  to  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  and  one  would  have  thought  that  he 
was  in  the  high  spirits  natural  to  any  young  officer 
with  a  month's  leave  of  absence.  He  described 
the  "  woodchuck  hole"  which  had  been  his  hiding- 
place,  sketched  humorously  the  portraits  of  Iss, 
Aunt  Sheba,  who  was  now  his  aunt's  cook,  and  gave 
funny  episodes  of  his  midnight  prowlings  while 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  reach  the  Union  lines. 
Grace  noted  how  skilfully  he  kept  his  own  per- 
sonality in  the  background  unless  he  appeared  in 
some  absurd  or  comical  light  ;  and  she  also  noted 
that  his  eyes  rested  upon  her  less  and  less 
often,  until  at  last,  after  Iss  had  had  his  most  flat- 
tering reception,  he  said  good-night  rather  ab- 
ruptly. 

The  next  day  he  entertained  the  major  in  a  way 
that  was  exceedingly  gratifying  and  flattering  to  the 
veteran.  He  brought  some  excellent  maps,  pointed 
out  the  various  lines  of  march,  the  positions  of  the 
opposing  armies,  and  showed  clearly  what  had  been 
done  and  what  might  have  been.  He  next  became 
the  most  patient  and  absorbed  listener,  as  the  old 
gentleman,  by  the  aid  of  the  same  maps,  planned  a 
campaign  which  during  the  coming  year  would  have 
annihilated  the  Confederacy.  Grace,  sitting  near  the 
window,  might  have  imagined  herself  almost  ig- 
nored. But  she  interpreted  him  differently.  She 
now  had  the  key  v/hich  explained  his  conduct,  and 
more  than  once  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

Hilland  returned  early,  having  hastened  through 
his  duties,  and  was  in  superb  spirits.     They  spent 


UNCHKONICLED    CONFLICTS.  269 

an  afternoon  together  which  stood  out  in  memory 
like  a  broad  gleam  of  sunshine  in  after  years  ;  and 
then  Graham  took  his  leave  with  messages  from  all 
to  Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  was  to  return  with  him. 

As  they  were  parting,  Grace  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then  stepping  forward  impulsively  she  took 
Graham's  hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  said  impetuously, 
"  You  have  seen  how  very,  very  happy  we  all  are. 
Do  you  think  that  I  forget  for  a  moment  that  I  owe 
it  to  you  ?" 

Graham's  iron  nerves  gave  way.  His  hand  trem- 
bled. "  Don't  speak  to  me  in  that  way,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Come,  Hilland,  or  I  shall  miss  the  train  ;" 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Mayburn  never  forgot  the  weeks  he  spent 
with  her.  Sometimes  she  would  look  at  him  wonder- 
ingly,  and  once  she  said,  "  Alford,  it  is  hard  for  me 
to  believe  that  you  have  passed  through  all  that  you 
have.  Day  after  day  passes,  and  you  seem  perfectly 
content  with  my  quiet,  monotonous  life.  You  read 
to  me  my  old  favorite  authors.  You  chaff  me  and 
Aunt  Sheba  about  our  little  domestic  economies.  Be- 
yond a  hasty  run  through  the  morning  paper  you 
scarcely  look  at  the  daily  journals.  You  are  content 
with  one  vigorous  walk  each  day.  Indeed  you  seem 
to  have  settled  down  and  adapted  yourself  to  my  old 
woman's  life  for  the  rest  of  time.  I  thought  you 
would  be  restless,  urging  my  earlier  return  to  Wash- 
ington, or  seeking  to  abridge  your  leave,  so  that  you 
might  return  to  the  excitement  of  the  camp." 

"  No,  aunty  dear,  I  am  not  restless.  I  have  out- 
lived and    outgrown  that   phase  of   my  life.     You 


270  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

will  find  that  my  pulse  is  as  even  as  yours.  Indeed 
I  have  a  deep  enjoyment  of  this  profound  quiet  of 
our  house.  1  have  fully  accepted  my  lot,  and  now 
expect  only  those  changes  that  come  from  without 
and  not  from  within.  To  be  perfectly  sincere  with 
you,  the  feeling  is  growing  that  this  profound  qui- 
etude that  has  fallen  upon  me  may  be  the  prelude  to 
final  rest.  It's  right  that  I  should  accustom  your 
mind  to  the  possibilities  of  every  day  in  our  coming 
campaign,  which  I  well  foresee  will  be  terribly  severe. 
At  first  our  generals  did  not  know  how  to  use 
cavalry,  and  beyond  escort  and  picket  duty  little 
was  asked  of  it.  Now  all  this  is  changed.  Cavalry 
has  its  part  in  every  pitched  battle,  and  in  the  inter- 
vals it  has  many  severe  conflicts  of  its  own.  Dar- 
ing, ambitious  leaders  are  coming  to  the  front,  and 
the  year  will  be  one  of  great  and  hazardous  activity. 
My  chief  regret  is  that  Hilland's  wound  did  not  dis- 
able him  wholly  from  further  service  in  the  field.  Still 
he  will  come  out  all  right.  He  always  has  and  ever 
will.  There  are  hidden  laws  that  control  and  shape 
our  lives.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  were  predes- 
tined to  be  just  what  you  are.  Your  life  is  rounded 
out  and  symmetrical  according  to  its  own  law.  The 
same  is  true  of  Hilland  and  of  myself  thus  far.  The 
rudiments  of  what  we  are  to-day  were  clearly  ap- 
parent when  we  were  boys.  He  is  the  same  ardent, 
jolly,  whole-souled  fellow  that  clapped  me  on  the 
back  after  leaving  the  class-room.  Everybody  liked 
him  then,  everything  favored  him.  Often  when  he 
had  not  looked  at  a  lesson  he  would  make  a  superb 


UNCHRONICLED    CONFLICTS.  271 

recitation.  I  was  moody  and  introspective  ;  so  I 
am  to-day.  Even  the  unforeseen  events  of  life  league 
together  to  develop  one's  characteristics.  The  con- 
ditions of  his  life  to-day  are  in  harmony  v/ith  all 
that  has  been  ;  the  same  is  true  of  mine,  with  the 
strange  exception  that  I  have  found  a  home  and  a 
dear  stanch  friend  in  one  who  I  supposed  would 
ever  be  a  stranger.  See  how  true  my  theory  is  of 
Grace  and  her  father.  Her  blithesome  girlhood 
has  developed  into  the  happiest  wifehood.  Her 
brow  is  as  smooth  as  ever,  and  her  eyes  as  bright. 
They  have  only  gained  in  depth  and  tenderness  as 
the  woman  has  taken  the  place  of  the  girl.  Her 
form  has  only  developed  into  lovelier  proportions, 
and  her  character  into  a  more  exquisite  symmetry. 
She  has  been  one  continuous  growth  according  to 
the  laws  of  her  being  ;  and  so  it  will  be  to  the  end. 
She  will  be  just  as  beautiful  and  lovable  in  old  age 
as  now  ;  for  nature,  in  a  genial  mood,  infused  into  her 
no  discordant,  disfiguring  elements.  The  major 
also  is  completing  his  life  in  consonance  with  all 
that  has  gone  before." 

"  Alford,  you  are  more  of  a  fatalist  than  a  materi- 
alist. In  my  heart  I  feel,  I  know,  you  are  wrong. 
What  you  say  seems  so  plausible  as  to  be  true  ; 
but  my  very  soul  revolts  at  it  all.  There  is  a  deep 
undertone  of  sadness  in  your  words,  and  they 
point  to  a  possibility  that  would  imbitter  every 
moment  of  the  remnant  of  my  life.  Suppose  you 
should  fall,  what  remedy  would  there  be  for  me  ? 
O,  in  anguish  I  have  learned  what  life  would  become 


272  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

then.  I  am  a  materialist  like  yourself,  although  all 
the  clergymen  in  town  would  say  I  was  orthodox. 
From  earliest  recollection  mere  things  and  certain 
people  have  been  everything  to  me  ;  and  now  you  are 
everything,  and  yet  at  this  hour  the  bullet  may  be 
moulded  which  will  strike  you  down.  Grace,  with 
her  rich,  beautiful  life,  is  in  equal  danger.  Hilland 
will  go  into  the  field  and  will  expose  himself  as  reck- 
lessly as  yourself.  I  have  no  faith  in  your  obscure 
laws.  Thousands  were  killed  in  the  last  campaign, 
thousands  are  dying  in  hospitals  this  moment,  and 
all  this  means  thousands  of  broken  hearts,  unless  they 
are  sustained  by  something  I  have  not.  This  world 
is  all  very  well  when  all  is  well,  but  it  can  so  easily 
become  an  accursed  world  !"  The  old  lady  spoke 
with  a  strange  bitterness,  revealing  the  profound  dis- 
quietude that  existed  under  the  serene  amenities  of 
her  age  and  her  methodical  life. 

Graham  sought  to  give  a  lighter  tone  to  their  talk 
and  said,  "  O,  well,  aunty,  perhaps  we  are  darken- 
ing the  sun  with  our  own  shadows.  We  must  take 
life  as  we  find  it.  There  is  no  help  for  that.  You 
have  done  so  practically.  With  your  strong  good 
sense  you  could  not  do  otherwise.  The  trouble  is  that 
you  are  haunted  by  old-time  New  England  beliefs 
that,  from  your  ancestry,  have  become  infused  into 
your  very  blood.  You  can't  help  them  any  more 
than  other  inherited  infirmities  which  may  have 
afflicted  your  grandfather.  Let  us  speak  of  some- 
thing else.  Ah,  here  is  a  welcome  diversion, — the 
daily  paper, — and  I'll  read  it  through  to  you,  and 


UNCMRONICLED   CONFLICTS.  273 

we'll  gain  another  hint  as  to  the  drift  of  this  great 
tide  of  events." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head  sadly  ;  and  the  fact 
that  she  watched  the  young  man  with  hungry,  wist- 
ful eyes  often  blinded  with  tears,  proved  that  neither 
state  nor  military  policy  was  uppermost  in  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  PRESENTIMENT. 

ON  Christmas  morning  Graham  found  his  break- 
fast-plate pushed  back,  and  in  its  place  lay  a 
superb  sword  and  belt,  fashioned  much  like  the  one 
he  had  lost  in  the  rescue  of  his  friend.  With  it  was 
a  genial  letter  from  Hilland,  and  a  little  note  from 
Grace,  which  only  said  : 

"  You  will  find  my  name  engraved  upon  the  sword 
with  Warren's.  We  have  added  nothing  else,  for 
the  good  reason  that  our  names  mean  everything, — 
more  than  could  be  expressed,  were  the  whole  blade 
covered  with  symbols,  each  meaning  a  volume. 
You  have  taught  us  how  you  will  use  the  weapon, 
my  truest  and  best  of  friends. 

"Grace  Hilland." 

His  eyes  lingered  on  the  name  so  long  that  his 
aunt  asked,  "  Why  don't  you  look  at  your  gift  ?" 

He  slowly  drew  the  long,  keen,  shining  blade, 
and  saw  again  the  name  "  Grace  Hilland,"  and  for 
a  time  he  saw  nothing  else.  Suddenly  he  turned 
the  sword  and  on  the  opposite  side  was  "  Warren 
Hilland,"  and  be  shook  his  head  sadly. 


A   PRESENTIMENT.  275 

"  Alford,  what  is  the  matter?"  his  aunt  asked 
impatiently. 

"  Why  didn't  they  have  their  names  engraved  to- 
gether ?"  he  muttered  slowly.  "  It's  a  bad  omen. 
See,  a  sword  is  between  their  names.  I  wish  they 
had  been  together.  O,  I  wish  Hilland  could  be  kept 
out  of  the  field  !" 

"  There  it  is,  Alford,"  began  his  aunt,  irritably, 
"  you  men  who  don't  believe  anything  are  always 
the  victims  of  superstition.     Bad  omen,  indeed  !" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  a  fool  ;  but  a  strange  chill 
at  heart  struck  me  for  which  I  can't  account ;"  and 
he  sprang  up  and  paced  the  floor  uneasily. 
"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I  would  bury  it  in  my  own 
heart  rather  than  cause  her  one  hour's  sorrow,  but  I 
wish  their  names  had  been  together. ' '  Then  he  took 
it  up  again  and  said,  "  Beautiful  as  it  is,  it  may  have 
to  do  some  stern  work,  Grace, — work  far  remote  from 
your  nature.  All  I  ask  is  that  it  may  come  between 
Hilland  and  danger  again.  I  wish  I  had  not  had 
that  strange,  cursed  presentiment." 

"  O  Alford  !  I  never  saw  you  in  such  a  mood,  and 
on  Christmas  morning,  too  !" 

"  That  is  just  what  I  don't  like  about  it, — it's  not 
my  habit  to  indulge  such  fancies,  to  say  the  least. 
Come  what  may,  however,  I  dedicate  the  sword  to 
her  service  without  counting  any  cost  ;"  and  he 
kissed  her  name,  and  laid  the  weapon  reverently 
aside. 

"  You  are  morbid  this  morning.  Go  to  the  door 
and  see  my  present  to  you.  You  will  find  no  bad 
omens  on  his  shining  coat." 


276  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

Graham  felt  that  it  was  weak  to  entertain  such 
impressions  as  had  mastered  him,  and  hastened  out. 
There,  pawing  the  frozen  ground,  was  a  horse 
that  satisfied  even  his  fastidious  eye.  There  was 
not  a  white  hair  in  the  coal-black  coat.  In  his  en- 
thusiasm he  forgot  his  hat,  and  led  the  beautiful 
creature  up  and  down,  observing  with  exultation  his 
perfect  action,  clean-cut  limbs,  and  deep,  broad 
chest. 

"  Bring  me  a  bridle,"  he  said  to  the  man  in  at- 
tendance, "  and  my  hat." 

A  moment  later  he  had  mounted. 

"  Breakfast  is  getting  cold,"  cried  his  aunt  from 
the  window,  delighted,  nevertheless,  at  the  appreci- 
ation of  her  gift. 

"This  horse  is  breakfast  and  dinner  both,"  he 
shouted,  as  he  galloped  down  the  path. 

Then,  to  the  old  lady's  horror,  he  dashed  through 
the  trees  and  shrubbery,  took  a  picket-fence  in  a  flying 
leap,  and  circled  round  the  house  till  Mrs.  Mayburn's 
head  was  dizzy.  Then  she  saw  him  coming  toward 
the  door  as  if  he  would  ride  through  the  house  ;  but 
the  horse  stopped  almost  instantly,  and  Graham  was 
on  his  feet,  handing  the  bridle  to  the  gaping  groom. 

"Take  good  care  of  him,"  he  said  to  the  man, 
**  for  he  is  a  jewel." 

"  Alford,"  exclaimed  his  aunt,  "  could  you  make 
no  better  return  for  my  gift  than  to  frighten  me  out 
of  my  wits  ?" 

"Dear  aunty,  you  are  too  well  supplied  ever  to 
lose  them  for  so  slight  a  cause.  I  wanted  to  sho\v 
the  perfection  of  your  gift,   and  how  well  it  may 


A    PRESENTIMENT.  277 

serve  me.  You  don't  imagine  that  our  cavalry  evolu- 
•tions  are  all  performed  on  straight  turnpike  roads, 
do  you  ?  Now  you  know  that  you  have  given  me  an 
animal  that  can  carry  me  wherever  a  horse  can  go, 
and  so  have  added  much  to  my  chances  of  safety. 
I  can  skim  out  of  a  melee  like  a  bird  with  Mayburn, 
— for  that  shall  be  his  name, — where  a  blundering, 
stupid  horse  would  break  my  neck,  if  I  wasn't  shot. 
I  saw  at  once  from  his  action  what  he  could  do. 
Where  on  earth  did  you  get  such  a  creature .?" 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lady,  beaming  with  trium- 
phant happiness,  "  I  have  had  agents  on  the  look- 
out a  long  time.  The  man  of  whom  you  had  your 
first  horse,  then  called  Firebrand,  found  him  ;  and 
he  knew  well  that  he  could  not  impose  any  inferior 
animal  upon  you.  Are  you  really  sincere  in  saying 
that  such  a  horse  as  this  adds  to  your  chances  of 
safety  ?" 

"  Certainly.  That's  what  I  was  trying  to  show 
you.  Did  you  not  see  how  he  would  wind  in  and 
out  among  the  trees  and  shrubbery, — how  he  would 
take  a  fence  lightly  without  any  floundering  ? 
There  is  just  as  much  difference  among  horses  as 
among  men.  Some  are  simply  awkward,  heavy,  and 
stupid  ;  others  are  vicious  ;  more  are  good  at  times 
and  under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  fail  you  at  a 
pinch.  This  horse  is  thorough-bred  and  well  broken. 
You  must  have  paid  a  small  fortune  for  him." 

"  I  never  invested  money  that  satisfied  me 
better." 

"  It's  like  you  to  say  so.  W^ll,  take  the  full 
comfort  of  thinking  how  much  you  have  added  to 


278  HIS  SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

my  comfort  and  prospective  well-being.  That 
gallop  has  already  done  me  a  world  of  good,  and 
given  me  an  appetite.  I'll  have  another  turn  across 
the  country  after  breakfast,  and  throw  all  evil  pre- 
sentiments to  the  winds." 

"  Why,  now  you  talk  sense.  When  you  are  in 
any  more  such  moods  as  this  morning  1  shall  pre- 
scribe horse." 

Before  New  Year's  day  Graham  had  installed  his 
aunt  comfortably  in  rooms  adjoining  the  Hillands', 
and  had  thanked  his  friends  for  their  gift  in  a  way 
that  proved  it  to  be  appreciated.  Mrs.  Mayburn  had 
been  cautioned  never  to  speak  of  what  he  now  re- 
garded as  a  foolish  and  unaccountable  presentiment, 
arising,  perhaps,  from  a  certain  degree  of  morbid- 
ness of  mind  in  all  that  related  to  Grace.  Iss  was 
on  hand  to  act  as  groom,  and  Graham  rode  out  with 
Hilland  and  Grace  several  times  before  his  leave  ex- 
pired. Even  at  that  day,  when  the  city  was  full  of 
gallant  men  and  fair  women,  many  turned  to  look  as 
the  three  passed  down  the  avenue. 

Never  had  Grace  looked  so  radiantly  beautiful  as 
when  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  a  Washington 
winter  and  in  the  frosty  air  she  galloped  over  the 
smooth,  hard  roads.  Hilland  was  proud  of  the 
almost  wondering  looks  of  admiration  that  every- 
where greeted  her,  and  too  much  in  love  to  note 
that  the  ladies  they  met  looked  at  him  in  much  the 
same  way.  The  best  that  was  said  of  Graham  was 
that  he  looked  a  soldier,  every  inch  of  him,  and 
that  he  rode  the  finest  horse  in  the  city  as  if  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  a  saddle.      He  was  regarded  by 


A   PRESENTIMENT.  279 

society  as  reserved,  unsocial,  and  proud  ;  and  at  two 
or  three  receptions,  to  which  he  went  because  of  the 
solicitation  of  his  friends,  he  piqued  the  vanity  of 
more  than  one  handsome  woman  by  his  courteous 
indifference. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  husband's 
friend  ?"  a  reigning  belle  asked  Grace.  "  One 
might  as  well  try  to  make  an  impression  on  a  paving- 
stone. " 

"  I  think  your  illustration  unhappy,"  was  her 
quiet  reply.  "  I  cannot  imagine  Mr.  Graham  at 
any  one's  feet." 

"  Not  even  your  own  ?"  was  the  malicious  retort. 

"  Not  even  my  own,"  and  a  flash  of  anger  from 
her  dark  eyes  accompanied  her  answer. 

Still,  wherever  he  went  he  awakened  interest  in 
all  natures  not  dull  or  sodden.  He  was  felt  to  be  a 
presence.  There  was  a  consciousness  of  power  in  his 
very  attitudes  ;  and  one  felt  instinctively  that  he  was 
far  removed  from  the  commonplace, — that  he  had 
had  a  history  which  made  him  different  from  other 
men. 

But  before  this  slight  curiosity  was  kindled  to  any 
extent,  much  less  satisfied,  his  leave  of  absence  ex- 
pired ;  and  with  a  sense  of  deep  relief  he  prepared 
to  say  farewell.  His  friends  expected  to  see  him 
often  in  the  city  ;  he  knew  they  would  see  him  but 
seldom,  if  at  all.  He  had  made  his  visit  with  his 
aunt,  and  she  understood  him.  His  quiet  poise  was 
departing,  and  he  longed  for  the  stern,  fierce  excite- 
ment of  active  service. 

Before  he  joined  his  regiment  he  spent  the  day 


28o  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

with  his  friends,  and  took  occasion  once,  when  alone 
with  Hilland,  to  make  an  appeal  that  was  solemn  and 
almost  passionate  in  its  earnestness,  adjuring  him 
to  remain  employed  in  duties  like  those  which  now 
occupied  him.     But  he  saw  that  his  efforts  were  vain. 

"No,  Graham,"  was  Hilland's  emphatic  reply; 
"just  as  soon  as  there  is  danger  at  the  front  I 
shall  be  with  my  regiment.  Now  1  can  do  more 
here." 

With  Grace  he  took  a  short  ride  in  the  morning 
while  Hilland  was  engaged  in  his  duties,  and  he 
looked  at  the  fair  woman  by  his  side  with  the 
thought  that  he  might  never  see  her  again.  It 
almost  seemed  as  if  Grace  understood  him,  for 
although  the  rich  color  mantled  in  her  cheeks  and 
she  abounded  in  smiles  and  repartee,  a  look  of  deep 
sadness  rarely  left  her  eyes. 

Once  she  said  abruptly,  "  Alford,  you  will  come 
and  see  us  often  before  the  campaign  opens  ?  O,  I 
dread  this  coming  campaign.  You  will  come 
often?" 

"  I  fear  not,  Grace,"  he  said,  gravely  and  gently. 
"  I  will  try  to  come,  but  not  often."  Then  he 
added,  with  a  short,  abrupt  laugh,  "  I  wish  I  could 
break  Hilland's  leg."  In  answer  to  a  look  of  sur- 
prise he  continued,  "  Could  not  your  father  procure 
an  order  that  would  keep  him  in  the  city  ?  He 
would  have  to  obey  orders." 

"  Ah,  I  understand  you,"  and  there  was  a  quick 
rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes.  "  It's  of  no  use.  I  have 
thought  of  ever)'thing,  but  Warren's  heart  is  set  on 
joining  his  regiment  in  the  spring." 


A    PRESENTIMENT.  28 1 

"  I  know  it.  I  have  said  all  that  I  could  say  to  a 
brother  on  the  subject." 

"  From  the  first,  Alford,  you  have  tried  to  make 
the  ordeal  of  this  war  less  painful  to  me,  and  how 
well  you  have  succeeded  !  You  have  been  our  good 
genius.  Warren,  in  his  impetuous,  chivalrous  feel- 
ing, would  have  gone  into  it  unadvisedly,  hastily  ; 
and  before  this  might—  O,  I  can't  even  think  of 
it,"  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "  But  years  have  passed 
since  your  influence  guided  him  into  a  wiser  and 
more  useful  course,  and  think  how  much  of  the  time 
I  have  been  able  to  be  with  him  !  And  it  has  all 
been  due  to  you,  Alford.  But  the  war  seems  no 
nearer  its  end.  It  rather  assumes  a  larger  and  more 
threatening  aspect.  Why  do  not  men  think  of  us 
poor  women  before  they  go  to  war?" 

"  You  think,  then,  that  even  your  influence  can- 
not keep  him  from  the  field  ?" 

"  No,  it  could  not.  Indeed,  beyond  a  certain 
point  I  dare  not  exert  it.  I  should  be  dumb  before 
questions  already  asked,  '  Why  should  I  shrink  when 
other  husbands  do  not  ?  What  would  be  said  of  me 
here  ?  what  by  my  comrades  in  the  regiment  ?  What 
would  your  brave  father  think,  though  he  might  ac- 
quiesce ?  Nay,  more,  what  would  my  wife  think  in 
her  secret  heart  ?  '  Alas  !  I  find  I  am  not  made  of 
such  stern  stuff  as  are  some  women.  Pride  and 
military  fame  could  not  sustain  me  if — if — " 

"  Do  not  look  on  the  gloomy  side,  Grace.  Hil- 
land  will  come  out  of  it  all  a  major-general." 

"  O,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  I  do  know 
that  he  will  often  be  in  desperate  danger  ;  what  a 


282  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

dread  certainty  that  is  for  me  !  O,  I  wish  you 
could  be  always  near  him  ;  and  yet  'tis  a  selfish  wish, 
for  you  would  not  count  the  cost  to  yourself." 

"  No,  Grace  ;  I've  sworn  that  on  the  sword  you 
gave  me." 

"I  might  have  known  as  much."  Then  she 
added  earnestly,  "  Believe  me,  if  you  should  fall  it 
would  also  imbitter  my  life." 

"Yes,  you  would  grieve  sincerely;  but  there 
would  be  an  infinite  difference,  an  infinite  differ- 
ence. One  question,  however,  is  settled  beyond  re- 
call. If  my  life  can  serve  you  or  Hilland,  no  power 
shall  prevent  my  giving  it.  There  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said  :  let  us  speak  of  something  else." 

"  Yes,  Alford,  one  thing  more.  Once  I  mis- 
judged you.  Forgive  me  ;"  and  she  caused  her 
horse  to  spring  into  a  gallop,  resolving  that  no  com- 
monplace words  should  follow  closely  upon  a  con- 
versation that  had  touched  the  most  sacred  feelings 
and  impulses  of  each  heart. 

For  some  reason  there  was  a  shadow  over  their 
parting  early  in  the  evening,  for  Graham  was  to 
ride  toward  the  front  with  the  dawn.  Even  Hilland's 
genial  spirits  could  not  wholly  dissipate  it.  Graham 
made  heroic  efforts,  but  he  was  oppressed  with  a 
despondency  which  was  well-nigh  overwhelming. 
He  felt  that  he  was  becoming  unmanned,  and  in 
bitter  self-censure  resolved  to  remain  with  his  regi- 
ment until  the  end  came,  as  he  believed  would  be 
the  case  with  him  before  the  year  closed. 

"  Alford,  remember  your  promise.  We  all  may 
need  you  yet,"  were  his  aunt's  last  words  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN   IMPROVISED   PICTURE   GALLERY. 

A/r  ^^^  ^°  Graham's  satisfaction,  his  regiment, 
iVl  soon  after  he  joined  it,  was  ordered  into 
the  Shenandoah  valley,  and  given  some  rough, 
dangerous  picket  duty  that  fully  accorded  with  his 
mood.  Even  Hilland  could  not  expect  a  visit  from 
him  now  ;  and  he  explained  to  his  friend  that  the 
other  ofHcers  were  taking  their  leaves  of  absence,  and 
he,  in  turn,  must  perform  their  duties.  And  so  the 
winter  passed  uneventfully  away  in  a  cheerful  in- 
terchange of  letters.  Graham  found  that  the  front 
agreed  with  him  better  than  Washington,  and  that 
his  pulse  resumed  its  former  even  beat.  A  dash  at 
a  Confederate  picket  post  on  a  stormy  night  was  far 
more  tranquillizing  than  an  evening  in  Hilland's 
luxurious  rooms. 

With  the  opening  of  the  spring  campaign  Hilland 
joined  his  regiment,  and  was  eager  to  remove  by 
his  courage  and  activity  the  slightest  impression,  if 
any  existed,  that  he  was  disposed  to  shun  dangerous 
service.  There  was  no  such  impression,  however  ; 
and  he  was  most  cordially  welcomed,  for  he  was  a 
great  favorite  with  both  officers  and  men. 


284  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  the  cavalry  was 
called  upon  to  do  heavy  work  and  severe  fighting ; 
and  the  two  friends  became  more  conspicuous  than 
ever  for  their  gallantry.  They  seemed,  however, 
to  bear  charmed  lives,  for,  while  many  fell  or  were 
wounded,  they  escaped  unharmed. 

At  last  the  terrific  and  decisive  campaign  of 
Gettysburg  opened  ;  and  from  the  war-wasted  and 
guerilla-infested  regions  of  Virginia  the  Northern 
troops  found  themselves  marching  through  the 
friendly  and  populous  North.  As  the  cavalry 
brigade  entered  a  thriving  village  in  Pennsylvania 
the  people  turned  out  almost  e7i  masse  and  gave  them 
more  than  an  ovation.  The  troopers  were  tired, 
hungry,  and  thirsty  ;  and,  since  from  every  doorway 
was  offered  a  boundless  hospitality,  the  column  came 
to  a  halt.  The  scene  soon  developed  into  a  pic- 
turesque military  picnic.  Young  maids  and  ven- 
erable matrons,  gray-bearded  fathers,  shy,  blush- 
ing girls,  and  eager-eyed  children,  all  vied  with  each 
other  in  pressing  upon  their  defenders  every  delicacy 
and  substantial  viand  that  their  town  could  furnish 
at  the  moment.  A  pretty  miss  of  sixteen,  with  a 
peach-like  bloom  in  her  cheeks,  might  be  seen  flit- 
ting here  and  there  among  the  bearded  troopers 
with  a  tray  bearing  goblets  of  milk.  When  they 
were  emptied  she  would  fly  back  and  lift  up  white 
arms  to  her  mother  for  more,  and  the  almost  equally 
blooming  matron,  smiling  from  the  window,  would 
fill  the  glasses  again  to  the  brim.  The  magnates  of 
the  village  with  their  wives  were  foremost  in  the 
work,  and  were  passing  to  and  fro  with  great  baskets 


AN  IMPROVISED  PICTURE    GALIERY.         285 

of  sandwiches,  while  stalwart  men  and  boys  were 
bringing  from  neighboring  wells  and  pumps  cool, 
delicious  water  for  the  horses.  How  immensely  the 
troopers  enjoyed  it  all  !  No  scowling  faces  and  cold 
looks  here.  All  up  and  down  the  street,  holding 
bridle-reins  over  their  arms  or  leaning  against  the 
flanks  of  their  horses,  they  feasted  as  they  had  not 
done  since  their  last  Thanksgiving  Day  at  home. 
Such  generous  cups  of  coffee,  enriched  with  cream 
almost  too  thick  to  flow  from  the  capacious  pitchers, 
and  sweetened  not  only  with  snow-white  sugar,  but 
also  with  the  smiles  of  some  gracious  woman,  per- 
haps motherly  in  appearance,  perhaps  so  fair  and 
young  that  hearts  beat  faster  under  the  weather- 
stained  cavalry  jackets. 

"  How  pretty  it  all  is  !"  said  a  familiar  voice  to 
Graham,  as  he  was  dividing  a  huge  piece  of  cake  with 
his  pet  Mayburn  ;  and  Hilland  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  shoulder. 

"  Ah,  Hilland,  seeing  you  is  the  best  part  of  this 
banquet  a  la  militaire.  Yes,  it  is  a  heavenly  change 
after  the  dreary  land  we've  been  marching  and  fight- 
ing in.  It  makes  me  feel  that  I  have  a  country,  and 
that  it's  worth  all  it  may  cost." 

"  Look,  Graham, — look  at  that  little  fairy  creature 
in  white  muslin,  talking  to  that  great  bearded  pard 
of  a  sergeant.  Isn't  that  a  picture  ?  O,  I  wish 
Grace,  with  her  eye  for  picturesque  effects,  could 
look  upon  this  scene." 

"  Nonsense,  Hilland  !  as  if  she  would  look  at 
anybody  or  anything  but  you  !  See  that  white- 
haired  old  woman  leading  that  exquisite  little  girl  to 


286  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

yonder  group  of  soldiers.  See  how  they  doff  their 
hats  to  her.      There's  another  picture  for  you." 

Hilland's  magnificent  appearance  soon  attracted 
half  a  dozen  village  belles  about  him,  each  offering 
some  dainty  ;  and  one — a  black-eyed  witch  a  little 
bolder  than  the  others — offered  to  fasten  a  rose  from 
her  hair  in  his  button-hole. 

He  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  with  all 
the  zest  of  his  old  student  days,  professed  to  be 
delighted  with  the  favor  as  she  stood  on  tiptoe  to 
reach  the  lappet  of  his  coat  ;  and  then  he  stooped 
down  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  fragrant  petals, 
assuring  the  blushing  little  coquette,  meanwhile,  that 
it  was  the  next  best  thing  to  her  own  red  lips. 

How  vividly  in  after  years  Graham  would  recall 
him,  as  he  stood  there,  his  handsome  head  thrown 
back,  looking  the  ideal  of  an  old  Norse  viking, 
laughing  and  chatting  with  the  merry,  innocent  girls 
around  him,  his  deep-blue  eyes  emitting  mirthful 
gleams  on  every  side  !  According  to  his  nature, 
Graham  drew  off  to  one  side  and  watched  the  scene 
with  a  smile,  as  he  had  viewed  similar  ones  far  back 
in  the  years,  and  faraway  in  Germany.  He  saw  the 
ripples  of  laughter  that  his  friend's  words  provoked, 
and  recognized  the  old,  easy  grace,  the  light,  French- 
like wit,  that  was  wholly  free  from  the  French  double 
cntefidre,  and  he  thought,  "  Would  that  Grace  could 
see  him  now,  and  she  would  fall  in  love  with  him 
anew,  for  her  nature  is  too  large  for  petty  jealousy 
at  a  scene  like  that.  O  Hilland,  you  and  the  group 
around  you  make  the  finest  picture  of  this  long  im- 
provised gallery  of  pictures." 


AN  IMPROVISED   PICTURE    GALLERY.         287 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  report  of  a  cannon 
from  a  hill  above  the  village,  and  a  shell  shrieked 
over  their  heads.  Hilland's  laughing  aspect  changed 
instantly.  He  seemed  almost  to  gather  the  young 
girls  in  his  arms  as  he  hurried  them  into  the  nearest 
doorway,  and  then  with  a  bound  reached  Graham, 
who  held  his  horse,  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  and 
dashed  up  the  street  to  his  men  who  were  standing 
in  line. 

Graham  sprang  lightly  on  his  horse,  for  in  the 
scenes  resulting  from  the  kaleidoscopic  change  that 
had  taken  place  he  would  be  more  at  home. 

"  Mount  !"  he  shouted  ;  and  the  order,  repeated  up 
and  down  the  street,  changed  the  jolly,  feasting 
troopers  of  a  moment  since  into  veterans  who  would 
sit  like  equestrian  statues,  if  so  commanded,  though 
a  hundred  guns  thundered  against  them. 

From  the  farther 'end  of  the  village  came  the  wild 
yell  characteristic  of  the  cavalry  charges  of  the  Con- 
federates, while  shell  after  shell  shrieked  and  ex- 
ploded where  had  just  been  unaffected  gayety  and 
hospitality. 

The  first  shot  had  cleared  the  street  of  all  except 
the  Union  soldiers  ;  and  those  who  dared  to  peep 
from  window  or  door  saw,  with  dismay,  that  the 
defenders  whom  they  had  so  honored  and  welcomed 
were  retreating  at  a  gallop  from  the  Rebel  charge. 

They  were  soon  undeceived,  however,  for  at  a 
gallop  the  national  cavalry  dashed  into  an  open  field 
near  by,  formed  with  the  precision  of  machinery, 
and  by  the  time  that  the  Rebel  charge  had  well-nigh 
spent  itself  in  the  sabring  or  capture  of  a  few  tardy 


288  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

troopers,  Hilland  with  platoon  after  platoon  was 
emerging  upon  the  street  again  at  a  sharp  trot,  which 
soon  developed  into  a  furious  gallop  as  he  dashed 
against  their  assailants ;  and  the  pretty  little  co- 
quette, bold  not  only  in  love  but  in  war,  ^a\v  from  a 
window  her  ideal  knight  with  her  red  rose  upon  his 
breast  leading  a  charge  whose  thunder  caused  the 
very  earth  to  tremble  ;  and  she  clapped  her  hands 
and  cheered  so  loudly  as  he  approached  that  he 
looked  up,  saw  her,  and  for  an  instant  a  sunny  smile 
passed  over  the  visage  that  had  become  so  stern. 
Then  came  the  shock  of  battle. 

Graham's  company  was  held  in  reserve,  but  for 
some  reason  his  horse  seemed  to  grow  unmanageable  ; 
and  sabres  had  scarcely  clashed  before  he,  with  the 
blade  on  which  was  engraved  "  Grace  Hilland,"  was 
at  her  husband's  side,  striking  blows  which  none 
could  resist.  The  enemy  could  not  stand  the  furious 
onset,  and  gave  way  slowly,  sullenly,  and  at  last 
precipitately.  The  tide  of  battle  swept  beyond  and 
away  from  the  village  ;  and  its  street  became  quiet 
again,  except  for  the  groans  of  the  wounded. 

Mangled  horses,  mangled  men,  some  dead,  some 
dying,  and  others  almost  rejoicing  in  wounds  that 
would  secure  for  them  such  gentle  nurses,  strewed 
the  street  that  had  been  the  scene  of  merry  fes- 
tivity. 

The  pretty  little  belle  never  saw  her  tawny, 
bearded  knight  again.  She  undoubtedly  married 
and  tormented  some  well-to-do  dry-goods  clerk  ;  but 
a  vision  of  a  man  of  heroic  mould,  with  a  red  rose 
upon  his  breast,  smiling  up  to  her  just  as  he  was 


AN  IMPROVISED   PICTURE   GALLERY.         289 

about   to    face  what   might  be   death,  will  thrill  her 
feminine  soul  until  she  is  old  and  gray. 

That  night  Graham  and  Hilland  talked  and 
laughed  over  the  whole  affair  as  they  sat  by  a  camp- 
fire. 

"  It  has  all  turned  out  as  usual,"  said  Graham, 
ruefully.  "  You  won  a  victory  and  no  end  of  glorj' ; 
I  a  reprimand  from  my  colonel." 

"  If  you  have  received  nothing  worse  than  a  rep- 
rimand you  are  fortunate,"  was  Hilland's  response. 
'  The  idea  of  any  horse  becoming  unmanageable  m 
your  hands  !  The  colonel  understands  the  case  as 
well  as  I  do,  and  knows  that  it  was  your  own  raven- 
ous appetite  for  a  fight  that  became  unmanageable. 
But  I  told  him  of  the  good  service  you  rendered,  and 
gave  him  the  wink  to  wink  also.  You  were  fearfully 
rash  to-day,  Graham.  You  were  not  content  to 
fight  at  my  side,  but  more  than  once  were  between 
me  and  the  enemy.  What  the  devil  makes  you  so 
headlong  in  a  fight,— you  that  are  usually  so  cool 
and  self-controlled  ?" 

Graham's  hand  rested  on  a  fair  woman's  name  en- 
graved upon  his  sword,  but  he  replied  lightly, 
"When  you  teach  me  caution  in  a  fight  I'll 
learn." 

"  Well,  excuse  me,  old  fellow,  I'm  going  to  write 
to  Grace.  May  not  have  a  chance  very  soon  again. 
I  say,  Graham,  we'll  have  the  battle  of  the  war  in  a 
day  or  two." 

"  I  know  it,"  was  the  quiet  response. 
^^"And  we  must  win,   too,"    Hilland    continued, 
"  or  the  Johnnies  will  help  themselves  to  Washing- 


290  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ton,  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and  perhaps  New 
York.  Every  man  should  nerve  himself  to  do  the 
work  of  two.  As  I  was  saying,  I  shall  write  to 
Grace  that  your  horse  ran  away  with  you  and  became 
uncontrollable  until  you  were  directly  in  front  of  me, 
when  you  seemed  to  manage  him  admirably,  and 
struck  blows  worthy  of  the  old  French  duellist  who 
killed  a  man  every  morning  before  breakfast.  I 
think  she'll  understand  your  sudden  and  amazingly 
poor  horsemanship  as  well  as  I  do." 

She  did,  and  far  better. 

Hilland's  prediction  proved  true.  The  decisive 
battle  of  Gettysburg  was  fought,  and  its  bloody  field 
marked  the  highest  point  reached  by  the  crimson 
tide  of  the  Rebellion.  From  Cemetery  Ridge  it 
ebbed  slowly  and  sullenly  away  to  the  south. 

The  brigade  in  which  were  the  friends  passed 
through  another  fearful  baptism  of  fire  in  the  main 
conflict  and  the  pursuit  which  followed,  and  were  in 
Virginia  again,  but  with  ranks  almost  decimated. 
Graham  and  Hilland  still  seemed  to  bear  charmed 
lives,  and  in  the  brief  pause  in  operations  that  fol- 
lowed, wrote  cheerful  letters  to  those  so  dear,  now 
again  at  their  sea-side  resort.  Grace,  who  for  days 
had  been  so  pale,  and  in  whose  dark  eyes  lurked  an 
ever-present  dread  of  which  she  could  not  speak, 
smiled  again.  Her  husband  wrote  in  exuberant 
spirits  over  the  victory,  and  signed  himself  "  Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel." Graham  in  his  letter  said  jestingly 
to  his  aunt  that  he  had  at  last  attained  his  "  ma- 
jority," and  that  she  might  therefore  look  for  a  little 
more  discretion  on  his  part. 


AN  IMPROVISED   PICTURE   GALLERY.         291 

"  How  the  boys  are  coming  on  !"  exulted  the 
old  major.  "  They  will  both  wear  the  stars  yet. 
But  confound  it  all,  why  did  Meade  let  Lee  escape  ? 
He  might  have  finished  the  whole  thing  up." 

Alas  !  the  immeasurable  price  of  liberty  was  not 
yet  paid. 

One  morning  Hilland's  and  Graham's  regiments 
were  ordered  out  on  what  was  deemed  but  a  minor 
reconnoissance ;  and  the  friends,  rested  and  strong, 
started  in  high  spirits  with  their  sadly  shrunken 
forces.  But  they  knew  that  the  remaining  hand- 
fuls  were  worth  more  than  full  ranks  of  untrained, 
unseasoned  men.  All  grow  callous,  if  not  indiffer- 
ent, to  the  vicissitudes  of  war ;  and  while  they 
missed  regretfully  many  familiar  faces,  the  thought 
that  they  had  rendered  the  enemy's  lines  more 
meagre  was  consoling. 

Graham  and  Hilland  rode  much  of  the  long  day 
together.  They  went  over  all  the  past,  and  dwelt 
upon  the  fact  that  their  lives  had  been  so  different 
from  what  they  had  planned. 

"  By  the  way,  Graham,"  said  Hilland,  abruptly, 
"  it  seems  strange  to  me  that  you  are  so  indifferent 
to  women.     Don't  you  expect  ever  to  marry  ?" 

Graham  burst  into  a  laugh  as  he  replied,  "  I 
thought  we  had  that  subject  out  years  ago,  under  the 
apple-tree, — that  night,  you  remember,  when  you 
talked  like  a  school-girl  till  morning — " 

"  And  you  analyzed  and  philosophized  till  long 
after  midnight — " 

"  Well,  you  knew  then  that  Grace  had  spoiled 
me  for  every  one  else  ;  and  she's  been  improving  ever 


292  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

since.  When  I  find  her  equal  I'll  marry  her,  if  I 
can." 

"  Poor,  forlorn  old  bachelor  that  you  are,  and 
ever  will  be!"  cried  Hilland.  "You'll  never  find 
the  equal  of  Grace  Hilland." 

"  I  think  I  shall  survive,  Hilland.  My  appetite 
is  good.  As  I  live,  there  are  some  Confederates  in 
yonder  clump  of  trees  ;"  and  he  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  on  a  little  private  reconnoissance.  The  few 
horsemen  vanished,  in  the  thick  woods  beyond,  the 
moment  they  saw  that  they  were  perceived  ;  and 
they  were  regarded  as  prowling  guerillas  only. 

That  night  they  bivouacked  in  a  grove  where  two 
roads  intersected,  threw  out  pickets  and  patrols,  arid 
kindled  their  fires,  for  they  did  not  expect  to  strike 
the  enemy  in  force  till  some  time  on  the  following 
day. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  DREAM. 

GRAHAM  and  his  friend  had  bidden  each  other 
an  early  and  cordial  good-night,  for  the  entire 
force  under  the  command  of  Hilland's  colonel  was 
to  resume  its  march  with  the  dawn.  Although  no 
immediate  danger  was  apprehended,  caution  had 
been  taught  by  long  experience.  The  detachment 
was  comparatively  small,  and  it  was  far  removed  from 
any  support  ;  and  while  no  hints  of  the  presence  of 
the  enemy  in  formidable  numbers  had  been  obtained 
during  the  day,  what  was  beyond  them  could  not  be 
known  with  any  certainty.  Therefore  the  horses  had 
been  carefully  rubbed  down,  and  the  saddles  re- 
placed. In  many  instances  the  bridles  also  had  been 
put  on  again,  with  the  bit  merely  slipped  from  the 
mouth.  In  all  cases  they  lay,  or  hung  within  reach 
of  the  tired  troopers,  who,  one  after  another,  were 
dropping  off  into  the  cat-like  slumber  of  a  cavalry 
outpost. 

As  the  fires  died  down,  the  shadows  in  the  grove  grew 
deeper  and  more  obscure,  and  all  was  quiet,  except 
when  the  hours  came  round  for  the  relief  of  pickets 
and  the  men  who  were  patrolling  the  roads.    Graham 


2  94  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

remembered  the  evanescent  group  of  Confederates 
toward  whom  he  had  spurred  during  the  day.  He 
knew  that  they  were  in  a  hostile  region,  and  that  their 
movements  must  be  already  well  known  to  the 
enemy,  if  strong  in  their  vicinity.  Therefore  all  his 
instincts  as  a  soldier  were  on  the  alert.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  he  was  second  in  command  of  his  regi- 
ment on  this  occasion,  and  he  felt  the  responsibility. 
He  had  been  his  own  groom  on  their  arrival  at  the 
grove,  and  his  faithful  charger,  Mayburn,  now  stood 
saddled  and  bridled  by  his  side,  as  he  reclined, 
half  dozing,  again  thinking  deeply,  by  the  low,  flick- 
ering blaze  of  his  fire.  He  had  almost  wholly  lost 
the  gloomy  presentiments  that  had  oppressed  him  at 
the  beginning  of  the  year.  Both  he  and  Hilland  had 
passed  through  so  many  dangers  that  a  sense  of 
security  was  begotten.  Still  more  potent  had  been 
the  influence  of  his  active  out-of-door  life.  His 
nerves  were  braced,  while  his  soldier's  routine  and  the 
strong  excitement  of  the  campaign  had  become  a 
preoccupying  habit. 

Only  those  who  brood  in  idleness  over  the  mis- 
fortunes and  disappointments  of  life  are  destroyed 
by  them. 

He  had  not  seen  Grace  for  over  half  a  year  ;  and 
while  she  was  and  ever  would  be  his  fair  ideal,  he 
could  now  think  of  her  with  the  quietude  akin  to  that 
of  the  devout  Catholic  who  worships  a  saint  removed 
from  him  at  a  heavenly  distance.  The  wisdom  of 
this  remoteness  became  more  and  more  clear  to  him  ; 
for  despite  every  power  that  he  could  put  forth  as  a 
man,  there  was  a  deeper,  stronger  manhood  within 


A    DREAM,  295 

him  which  acknowledged  this  woman  as  sovereign. 
He  foresaw  that  his  lot  would  be  one  of  comparative 
exile,  and  he  accepted  it  with  a  calm  and  inflexible 
resolution. 

Hearing  a  step  he  started  up  hastily,  and  saw 
Hilland  approaching  from  the  opposite  side  of  his 
fire. 

"  Ah,  Graham,  glad  you  are  not  asleep,"  said  his 
friend,  throwing  himself  down  on  the  leaves,  with  his 
head  resting  on  his  hands.  "  Put  a  little  wood  on 
the  fire,  please  ;  I'm  chilly  in  the  night  air,  and  the 
dews  are  so  confoundedly  heavy." 

"Why,  Hilland,  what's  the  matter?"  Graham 
asked,  as  he  complied.  "  You  are  an  ideal  cavalry- 
man at  a  nap,  and  can  sleep  soundly  with  one  eye 
open.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  you  never  lost  a 
wink  when  there  was  a  chance  for  it,  even  under 
fire." 

"  Why  are  you  not  sleeping  ?" 

"  O,  I  have  been,  after  my  fashion,  dozing  and 
thinking  by  turns.  I  always  was  an  owl,  you  know. 
Moreover,  I  think  it  behooves  us  to  be  on  the  alert. 
We  are  a  good  way  from  support  if  hard  pressed  ; 
and  the  enemy  must  be  in  force  somewhere  to  the 
west  of  us." 

**  I've  thought  as  much  myself.  My  horse  is 
ready  as  yours  is,  and  I  left  an  orderly  holding  him. 
I  suppose  you  will  laugh  at  me,  but  I've  had  a 
cursed  dream  ;  and  it  has  shaken  me  in  spite  of 
my  reason.  After  all,  how  often  our  reason  fails  us 
at  a  pinch  !  I  wish  it  was  morning  and  we  were  on 
the   road.     I've  half   a   mind    to   go  out  with  the 


296  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

patrols  and  get  my  blood  in  circulation.  I  would, 
were  it  not  that  I  feel  I  should  be  with  my  men." 

"  Where's  your  colonel  ?" 

"  The  old  war-dog  is  sleeping  like  a  top.  Noth- 
ing ever  disturbs  him,  much  less  a  dream.  I  say, 
Graham,  I  made  a  good  selection  in  him,  didn't  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  he'll  be  promoted  soon,  and  you  will  be 
in  command.  What's  more,  I  expect  to  see  a  star 
on  your  shoulder  in  less  than  six  months." 

"  As  I  feel  to-night,  I  don't  care  a  picayune  for 
stars  or  anything  else  relating  to  the  cursed  war. 
I'd  give  my  fortune  to  be  able  to  kiss  Grace  and  tell 
her  I'm  well." 

"  You  are  morbid,  Hilland.  You  will  feel  differ- 
ently to-morrow,  especially  if  there's  a  chance  for  a 
charge." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  The  shadow  of  this  con- 
founded grove  seems  as  black  as  death,  and  it  op- 
presses me.  Why  should  I,  without  apparent  cause, 
have  had  such  a  dream  ?" 

"  Your  supper  and  fatigue  may  have  been  the 
cause.   If  you  don't  mind,  tell  me  this  grisly  vision." 

"  While  you  laugh  at  me  as  an  old  woman, — you, 
in  whom  reason  ever  sits  serene  and  dispassionate 
on  her  throne,  except  when  you  get  into  a  fight." 

"  My  reason's  throne  is  often  as  rickety  as  a  two- 
legged  stool.  No,  I  won't  laugh  at  you.  There's 
not  a  braver  man  in  the  service  than  you.  If  you 
feel  as  you  say,  there's  some  cause  for  it  ;  and  yet  so 
complex  is  our  organism  that  both  cause  and  effect 
may  not  be  worthy  of  very  grave  consideration,  as  I 
have  hinted." 


A    DREAM.  297 

"  Think  what  you  please,  this  was  my  dream.  I 
had  made  my  dispositions  for  the  night,  and  went  to 
sleep  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  had  not  slept  an  hour  by 
my  watch — I  looked  at  it  afterward— when  I  seemed 
to  hear  some  one  moaning  and  crying,  and  I  thought 
I  started  up  wide  awake,  and  I  saw  the  old  library  at 
home, — the  room  you  know  so  well.  Every  article 
of  furniture  was  before  me  more  distinctly  than  I 
can  see  any  object  now,  and  on  the  rug  before  the 
open  fire  Grace  was  crouching,  while  she  moaned  and 
wrung  her  hands  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  was  break- 
ing. She  was  dressed  in  black, — O,  how  white  her 
hands  and  neck  and  face  appeared  against  that 
mournful  black  ! — and,  strangest  of  all,  her  hair  fell 
around  her  snowy  white,  like  a  silver  veil.  I  started 
forward  to  clasp  her  in  my  arms,  and  then  truly 
awoke,  for  there  was  nothing  before  me  but  my 
drooping  horse,  a  few  red  coals  of  my  expiring 
fire,  and  over  all  the  black,  black  shadow  of  this 
accursed  grove.  O  for  sunlight  !  O  for  a  gale  of 
wind,  that  I  might  breathe  freely  again!"  and  the 
powerful  man  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  open 
his  coat  at  his  breast. 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  silence  and  darkness  of 
the  grove  did  seem  ominous  and  oppressive,  and 
Graham's  old  wretched  presentiment  of  Christmas 
morning  returned,  but  he  strove  with  all  the  ingenuity 
in  his  power  to  reason  his  friend  out  of  his  morbid 
mood,  as  he  termed  it.  He  kindled  his  fire  into  a 
\  cheerful  blaze,  and  Hilland  cowered  and  shivered 
over  it  ;  then  looking  up  abruptly,  he  said, 
*'  Graham,  you  and  I  accepted  the  belief  long  ago 


298  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

that  man  was  only  highly  organized  matter.  I  must 
admit  to  you  that  my  mind  has  often  revolted  at 
this  belief  ;  and  the  thought  that  Grace  was  merely 
of  the  earth  has  always  seemed  to  me  sacrilegious. 
She  never  was  what  you  would  call  a  religious  girl  ; 
but  she  once  had  a  quiet,  simple  faith  in  a  God  and 
a  hereafter,  and  she  expected  to  see  her  mother 
again.  I  fear  that  our  views  have  troubled  her  ex- 
ceedingly ;  although  with  that  rare  reserve  in  a 
woman,  she  never  interfered  with  one's  strong  per- 
sonal convictions.  The  shallow  woman  tries  to  set 
everybody  right  with  the  weighty  reason,  *  O,  be- 
cause it  is  so  ;  all  good  people  say  it  is  so.'  I  fear 
our  views  have  unsettled  hers  also.  I  wish  they  had 
not ;  indeed  I  wish  I  could  believe  somewhat  as  she 
did. 

"  Once,  only  once,  she  spoke  to  me  with  a  strange 
bitterness,  but  it  revealed  the  workings  of  her  mind. 
I,  perhaps,  was  showing  a  little  too  much  eagerness 
in  my  spirit  and  preparation  for  active  service,  and 
she  broke  out  abruptly,  '  O,  yes,  you  and  Alford 
can  rush  into  scenes  of  carnage  very  complacently. 
You  believe  that  if  the  bullet  is  only  sure  enough, 
your  troubles  are  over  forever,  as  Alford  once  said. 
I  suppose  you  are  right,  for  you  learned  men  have 
studied  into  things  as  we  poor  women  never  can.  If 
it's  true,  those  who  love  as  we  do  should  die  to- 
gether.' It  has  often  seemed  that  her  very  love — 
nay,  that  mine — was  an  argument  against  our  be- 
lief. That  a  feeling  so  pure,  vivid,  and  unselfish,  so 
devoid  of  mere  earthiness, — a  feeling  that  apparently 
contains  within  itself  the  very  essence  of  immortality, 


A  DREAM.  299 

— can  be  instantly  blotted  out  as  a  flame  is  extin- 
guished, has  become  a  terrible  thought.  Grace  Hil- 
land  is  worthy  of  an  immortal  life,  and  she  has  all 
the  capacity  for  it.  It's  not  her  lovely  form  and  face 
that  I  love  so  much  as  the  lovely  something — call  it 
soul,  spirit,  or  what  you  choose — that  will  maintain 
her  charm  through  all  the  changes  from  youth  to 
feeble  and  withered  age.  How  can  I  be  sure  that 
the  same  gentle,  womanly  spirit  may  not  exist  after 
the  final  change  we  call  death,  and  that  to  those 
worthy  of  immortal  life  the  boon  is  not  given  ?  Rea- 
son is  a  grand  thing,  and  I  know  we  once  thought  we 
settled  this  question  ;  but  reason  fails  me  to-night,  or 
else  love  and  the  intense  longings  of  the  heart  teach 
a  truer  and  deeper  philosophy — 

"  You  are  silent,  Graham.  You  think  me  morbid, 
— that  wishes  are  fathers  of  my  thoughts.  Well,  I'm 
not.  I  honestly  don't  know  what  the  truth  is.  I  only 
wish  to-night  that  I  had  the  simple  belief  in  a  re- 
union with  Grace  which  she  had  with  regard  to  her 
mother.  I  fear  we  have  unsettled  her  faith  ;  not  that 
we  ever  urged  our  views, —  indeed  we  have  scarcely 
ever  spoken  of  them, — but  there  has  been  before  her 
the  ever-present  and  silent  force  of  example.  It  was 
natural  for  her  to  believe  that  those  were  right  in 
whom  she  most  believed  ;  and  I'm  not  sure  we  are 
right, — I'm  not  sure.  I've  not  been  sure  for  a  long 
time." 

"  My  dear  Warren,  you  are  not  well.  Exposure 
to  all  sorts  of  weather  in  this  malarial  country  is  tell- 
ing on  you  ;  and  I  fear  your  feelings  to-night  are  the 
prelude  of  a  fever.     You  shall  stay  and  sleep  by  my 


300  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

fire,  and  if  I  hear  the  sHghtest  suspicious  sound  I 
will  waken  you.  You  need  not  hesitate,  for  I  in- 
tend to  watch  till  morning,  whether  you  stay  or 
not." 

"  Well,  Graham,  I  will.  I  wish  to  get  through  this 
horrible  night  in  the  quickest  way  possible.  But  I'll 
first  go  and  bring  my  horse  here,  so  the  poor  orderly 
can  have  a  nap." 

He  soon  returned  and  lay  down  close  to  the  genial 
fire,  and  Graham  threw  over  him  his  own  blankets. 

"  What  a  good,  honest  friend  you  are,  Graham  ! — 
too  honest  even  to  say  some  hollow  words  favoring 
my  doubts  of  my  doubt  and  unbelief.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  I  should  have  been  dead  long  ago.  In 
my  blind  confidence,  I  should  have  rushed  into  the 
war,  and  probably  should  have  been  knocked  on  the 
head  at  Bull  Run.  How  many  happy  months  I've 
passed  with  Grace  since  then  ! — how  many  since  you 
virtually  gave  your  life  for  me  last  autumn  !  You 
made  sure  that  I  took  a  man's,  not  a  fool's,  part^  in  the 
war.  O,  Grace  and  I  know  it  all  and  appreciate 
it  ;  and — and — Alford,  if  I  should  fall,  I  commend 
Grace  to  your  care." 

"  Hilland,  stop,  or  you  will  unman  me.  This  ac- 
cursed grove  is  haunted  I  half  believe  ;  and  were  I 
in  command  I  would  order  '  Boots  and  Saddles '  to 
be  sounded  at  once.  There,  sleep,  Warren,  and  in 
the  morning  you  will  be  your  own  grand  self.  Why 
speak  of  anything  I  could  do  for  you  and  Grace  ? 
How  could  I  serve  myself  in  any  $urer  way  ?  As 
school-girls  say,  '  I  won't  speak  to  you  again.'  I'm 
going  to  prowl  around  a  little,  and  see  that  all  is 


A    DREAM.  301 

right ;"  and  he  disappeared  among  the  shadowy- 
boles  of  the  trees. 

When  he  returned  from  his  rounds  his  friend  was 
sleeping,  but  uneasily,  with  sudden  fits  and  starts. 

' '  He  is  surely  going  to  have  a  fever, ' '  Graham  mut- 
tered. "I'd  give  a  year's  pay  if  we  were  safe  back 
in  camp."  He  stood  before  the  fire  with  folded 
arms,  watching  his  boyhood's  friend,  his  gigantic 
shadow  stretching  away  into  the  obscurity  as  un- 
waveringly as  those  of  the  tree-trunks  around  him. 
His  lips  were  compressed.  He  sought  to  make  his 
will  as  inflexible  as  his  form.  He  would  not  think 
of  Grace,  of  danger  to  her  and  Hilland  ;  and  yet,  by 
some  horrible  necromancy  of  the  hour  and  place, 
the  scene  in  Hilland's  dream  would  rise  before  him 
with  a  vividness  that  was  overawing.  In  the  sigh- 
ing of  the  wind  through  the  foliage,  he  seemed  to 
hear  the  poor  wife's  moans. 

"O,"  he  muttered,  "would  that  I  could  die  a 
thousand  deaths  to  prevent  a  scene  like  that  !" 

When  would  the  interminable  night  pass  ?  At 
last  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  the  dawn 
could  not  be  far  distant.  How  still  everything  had 
become  !  The  men  were  in  their  deepest  slumber. 
Even  the  wind  had  died  out,  and  the  silence  was  to 
his  overwrought  mind  like  the  hush  of  expectancy. 

This  silence  was  at  last  broken  by  a  shot  on  the 
road  leading  to  the  west.  Other  shots  followed  in 
quick  succession. 

Hilland  was  on  his  feet  instantly.  "  We're  at- 
tacked," he  shouted,  and  was  about  to  spring  upon 
his  horse  when  Graham  grasped  his  hand  in  both  of 


302  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

his  as  he  said,  "  In  the  name  of  Grace  Hilland,  be 
prudent." 

Then  both  the  men  were  in  the  saddle,  Hilland 
dashing  toward  his  own  command,  and  each  shout- 
ing, "  Awake  !     Mount  !" 

At  the  same  instant  the  bugle  from  headquarters 
rang  through  the  grove,  giving  the  well-known 
order  of  "  Boots  and  Saddles." 

In  place  of  the  profound  stillness  of  a  moment  be- 
fore, there  were  a  thousand  discordant  sounds, — the 
trampling  of  feet,  jingling  of  sabres,  the  champing 
of  bits  by  aroused,  restive  horses,  that  understood 
the  bugle  call  as  well  as  the  men,  hoarse,  rapid 
orders  of  officers,  above  all  which  in  the  distance 
could  be  heard  Hilland's  clarion  voice. 

Again  and  again  from  headquarters  the  brief, 
musical  strains  of  the  bugle  echoed  through  the 
gloom,  each  one  giving  to  the  veterans  a  definite 
command.  Within  four  minutes  there  was  a  line  of 
battle  on  the  western  edge  of  the  grove,  and  a 
charging  column  was  in  the  road  leading  to  the  west, 
down  which  the  patrols  were  galloping  at  a  headlong 
pace.  Pickets  were  rushing  in,  firing  as  they  came. 
To  the  uninitiated  it  might  have  seemed  a  scene  of 
dire  confusion.  In  fact,  it  was  one  of  perfect  order 
and  discipline.  Even  in  the  darkness  each  man 
knew  just  what  to  do  and  where  to  go,  as  he  heard 
the  bugle  calls,  and  the  stern,  brief,  supplementary 
orders  of  the  officers. 

Graham  found  himself  on  the  line  of  battle  at  the 
right  of  the  road,  and  the  sound  that  followed  close 
upon  the  sharp  gallop  of  the  patrol  was  ominous  in- 


A   DREAM.  303 

deed.  It  was  the  rushing,  thunderous  sound  of  a 
heavy  body  of  cavalry, — too  heavy,  his  ear  soon  fore- 
told him,  to  promise  equal  battle. 

The  experienced  colonel  recognized  the  fact  at 
the  same  moment,  and  would  not  leave  his  men  in 
the  road  to  meet  the  furious  onset.  Again,  sharp, 
quick,  and  decisive  as  the  vocal  order  had  been,  the 
bugle  rang  out  the  command  for  a  change  of  posi- 
tion. Its  strains  had  not  ceased  when  the  officers 
were  repeating  the  order  all  down  the  column  that 
had  been  formed  in  the  road  for  a  charge,  and 
scarcely  a  moment  elapsed  before  the  western  pike 
was  clear,  and  faced  by  a  line  of  battle  a  little  back 
among  the  trees.  The  Union  force  would  now  ask 
nothing  better  than  that  the  enemy  should  charge 
down  that  road  within  point-blank  range. 

If  the  Nationals  were  veterans  they  were  also  deal- 
ing with  veterans  who  were  masters  of  the  situation 
in  their  overwhelming  force  and  their  knowledge  of 
the  comparative  insignificance  of  their  opponents, 
whose  numbers  had  been  quite  accurately  estimated 
the  day  before. 

The  patrols  were  already  within  the  Union  lines  and 
at  their  proper  places  when  the  Confederate  column 
emerged  into  the  narrow  open  space  before  the 
grove.  Its  advance  had  subsided  into  a  sharp  trot ; 
but,  instead  of  charging  by  column  or  platoon,  the 
enemy  deployed  to  right  and  left  with  incredible 
swiftness.  Men  dismounted  and  were  in  line  almost 
instantly,  their  gray  forms  looking  phantom-like  in 
the  gray  dawn  that  tinged  the  east. 

The  vigilant  colonel  was  as  prompt  as  they,  and 


304  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

at  the  first  evidence  of  their  tactics  the  bugle  re- 
sounded, and  the  line  of  battle  facing  the  road  which 
led  westward  wheeled  at  a  gallop  through  the  open 
trees  and  formed  at  right  angles  with  the  road  behind 
the  first  line  of  battle.  Again  there  was  a  bugle  call. 
The  men  in  both  lines  dismounted  instantly,  and  as 
their  horses  were  being  led  to  the  rear  by  those 
designated  for  the  duty,  a  Union  volley  was  poured 
into  the  Confederate  line  that  had  scarcely  formed, 
causing  many  a  gap.  Then  the  first  Union  line 
retired  behind  the  second,  loading  as  they  went,  and, 
with  the  ready  instinct  of  old  fighters,  putting  trees 
between  themselves  and  the  swiftly  advancing  foe 
while  forming  a  third  line  of  battle.  From  the 
second  Union  line  a  deadly  volley  blazed  in  the  dim 
obscurity  of  the  woods.  It  had  no  perceptible  effect 
in  checking  the  impetuous  onset  of  the  enemy,  who 
merely  returned  the  fire  as  they  advanced. 

The  veteran  colonel,  with  cool  alertness,  saw  that 
he  was  far  outnumbered,  and  that  his  assailants* 
tactics  were  to  drive  him  through  the  grove  into  the 
open  fields,  where  his  command  would  be  speedily 
dispersed  and  captured.  His  only  chance  was  to  run 
for  it  and  get  the  start.  Indeed  the  object  of  his 
reconnaissance  seemed  already  accomplished,  for  the 
enemy  was  found  to  be  in  force  in  that  direction. 
Therefore,  as  he  galloped  to  the  rear  his  bugler 
sounded  "  Retreat"  long  and  shrilly. 

The  dim  Union  lines  under  the  trees  melted  away 
as  by  magic,  and  a  moment  later  there  was  a  rush 
of  horses  through  the  underbrush  that  fringed  the 
eastern  side   of  the  grove.     But  some  were  shot, 


A   DREAM.  305 

some  sabred,  and  others  captured  before  they  could 
mount  and  extricate  themselves.  The  majority, 
however,  of  the  Union  forces  were  galloping  swiftly 
away,  scattering  at  first  rather  than  keeping  together, 
in  order  to  distract  the  pursuit  which  for  a  time  was 
sharp  and  deadly.  Not  a  few  succumbed  ;  others 
would  turn  on  their  nearest  pursuer  in  mortal  com- 
bat, which  was  soon  decided  in  one  way  or  the 
other.  Graham  more  than  once  wheeled  and  con- 
fronted an  isolated  foe,  and  the  sword  bearing  the 
name  of  the  gentle  Grace  Hilland  was  bloody  in- 
deed. 

All  the  while  his  eye  was  ranging  the  field  for 
Hilland,  and  with  his  fleet  steed,  that  could  soon 
have  carried  him  beyond  all  danger,  he  diverged  to 
right  and  left,  as  far  as  their  headlong  retreat  per- 
mitted, in  his  vain  search  for  his  friend. 

Suddenly  the  bugle  from  the  Confederate  side 
sounded  a  recall.  The  enemy  halted,  fired  parting 
shots,  and  retired  briskly  over  the  field,  gathering 
up  the  wounded  and  the  prisoners.  The  Union 
forces  drew  together  on  a  distant  eminence,  from 
which  the  bugler  of  the  colonel  in  command  was 
blowing  a  lively  call  to  rendezvous. 

"  Where's  Hilland  ?"  cried  Graham,  dashing  up. 

The  colonel  removed  a  cigar  from  his  mouth  and 
said,  "  Haven't  seen  him  since  I  ordered  the  retreat. 
Don't  worry.  He'll  be  here  soon.  Hilland  is  sure 
to  come  out  all  right.  It's  a  way  he  has.  'Twas 
a  rather  rapid  change  of  base,  Major  Graham. 
That  the  enemy  should  have  ceased  their  pursuit 
so   abruptly   puzzles   me.      Ah,    here    comes    your 


3o6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

colonel,  and  when  Hilland  puts  in  an  appearance  we 
must  hold  a  brief  council,  although  I  suppose  there 
is  nothing  left  for  us  but  to  make  our  way  back  to 
camp  and  report  as  speedily  as  possible.  I'd  like  to 
come  back  with  a  division,  and  turn  the  tables  on 
those  fellows.     I  believe  we  fought  a  divis — " 

"Hilland!"  shouted  Graham,  in  a  voice  that 
drowned  the  colonel's  words,  and  echoed  far  and 
wide. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  fugitives  were 
nearly  all  in. 

Graham  galloped  out  beyond  the  last  lagging 
trooper,  and  with  a  cry  that  smote  the  hearts  of 
those  that  heard  it  he  shouted,  "  Hilland  !"  and 
strained  his  eyes  in  every  direction.  There  was  no 
response, — no  form  in  view  that  resembled  his  friend. 

At  wild  speed  he  returned  and  rode  among  Hil- 
land's  command.  His  manner  was  so  desperate 
that  he  drew  all  eyes  upon  him,  and  none  seemed 
able  or  willing  to  answer.  At  last  a  man  said, 
"  I  heard  his  voice  just  as  we  were  breaking  from 
that  cursed  grove,  and  I've  seen  or  heard  nothing  of 
him  since.  I  supposed  he  was  on  ahead  with  the 
colonel ;"  and  that  was  all  the  information  that  could 
be  obtained. 

The  men  looked  very  downcast,  for  Hilland  was 
almost  idolized  by  them.  Graham  saw  that  there 
was  an  eager  quest  of  information  among  them- 
selves, and  he  waited  with  feverish  impatience  for 
further  light ;  but  nothing  could  be  elicited  from 
officers  or  privates  beyond  the  fact  that  Hilland 
had  been  bravely  doing  his  duty  up  to  the  moment 


A    DREAM.  307 

when,  as  one  of  the  captains  said,  "  It  was  a 
scramble,  each  man  for  himself,  and  the  devil  take 
the  hindmost." 

As  long  as  there  had  been  a  gleam  of  hope  that 
Hilland  had  escaped  with  the  rest,  Graham  had  been 
almost  beside  himself  in  his  feverish  impatience. 

He  now  rode  to  where  the  two  colonels  were  stand- 
ing, and  the  senior  began  rapidly,  "  Major  Graham, 
we  sympathize  with  you  deeply.  We  all,  and  in- 
deed the  army,  have  sustained  a  severe  loss  in  even 
the  temporary  absence  of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Hil- 
land ;  for  I  will  not  believe  that  worse  has  happened 
than  a  wound  and  brief  captivity.  The  enemy  has 
acted  peculiarly.  I  have  fears  that  they  may  be 
flanking  us  and  trying  to  intercept  us  on  some 
parallel  road.  Therefore  I  shall  order  that  we 
return  to  camp  in  the  quickest  possible  time.  Good 
God,  Graham  !  don't  take  it  so  to  heart.  You've  no 
proof  that  Hilland  is  dead.  You  look  desperate, 
man.  Come,  remember  that  you  are  a  soldier  and 
that  Hilland  was  one  too.  We've  had  to  discount 
such  experiences  from  the  start." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Graham,  in  a  low,  concen- 
trated voice,  and  touching  his  hat  to  the  two 
colonels,  "  I  am  under  the  command  of  you  both, — 
one  as  my  superior  officer,  the  other  as  leader  of  the 
expedition.  I  ask  permission  to  return  in  search  of 
my  friend." 

"  I  forbid  it,"  they  both  cried  simultaneously, 
while  the  senior  officer  continued,  "  Graham,  you 
are  beside  yourself.  It  would  be  almost  suicide  to 
go  back.     It  would  certainly  result  in  your  capture. 


3o8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

while  there  is  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that  you 
could  do  Hilland  any  good." 

Graham  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  was 
studying  the  ill-omened  grove  with  his  glass. 
After  a  moment  he  said,  "  I  do  not  think  there 
will  be  any  further  pursuit.  The  enemy  are  retir- 
ing from  the  grove.  My  explanation  of  their  con- 
duct is  this  :  There  is  some  large  decisive  move- 
ment in  progress,  and  wfe  were  merely  brushed 
out  of  the  way  that  we  might  learn  nothing  of 
it.  My  advice  is  that  we  retain  this  command- 
ing position,  throw  out  scouts  on  every  side, 
and  I  doubt  whether  we  find  anything  beyond  a 
Small  rear-guard  in  ten  miles  of  us  within  a  few 
hours." 

"  Your  anxiety  for  your  friend  warps  your  judg- 
ment, and  it  is  contrary  to  my  instructions,  which 
were  simply  to  learn  if  there  was  any  considerable 
force  of  the  enemy  in  this  region.  Your  explanation 
of  the  enemy's  conduct  is  plausible,  and  has  already 
occurred  to  me  as  a  possibility.  If  it  be  the  true  ex- 
planation, all  the  more  reason  that  we  should  return 
promptly  and  report  what  we  know  and  what  we 
surmise.  I  shall  therefore  order  '  Retreat'  to  be 
sounded  at  once." 

*'  And  I,  Major  Graham,"  said  his  own  colonel, 
"  must  add,  that  while  you  have  my  sympathy,  I 
nevertheless  order  you  to  your  place  in  the  march. 
Rather  than  permit  you  to  carry  out  your  mad 
project,  I  would  place  you  under  arrest." 

"  Gentlemen,  I  cannot  complain  of  your  course,  or 
criticise  your  military  action.     You  are  in  a  better 


A   DREAM.  309 

condition  of  mind  to  judge  what  is  wise  than  ':i.  ;  and 
under  ordinary  circumstances  I  would  submit  with- 
out a  word.  But  the  circumstances  are  extraordi- 
nary. Hilland  has  been  my  friend  since  boyhood. 
I  will  not  remain  in  suspense  as  to  his  fate  ;  much 
less  will  I  leave  his  wife  and  friends  in  suspense.  I 
know  that  disobedience  of  orders  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy  is  one  of  the  gravest  offences,  but  I  must 
disobey  them,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may." 

As  he  wheeled  his  horse,  his  colonel  cried,  "  Stop 
him.  He's  under  arrest  !"  But  Mayburn,  feelingthe 
touch  of  the  spur,  sprang  into  his  fleet  gallop,  and 
they  might  as  well  have  pursued  a  bird. 

They  saw  this  at  once,  and  the  colonel  in  com- 
mand only  growled, '  * this  reconnaissance.     Here 

we've  lost  two  of  the  finest  officers  in  the  brigade, 
as  well  as  some  of  our  best  men.    Sound  '  Retreat.'  " 

There  was  a  hesitancy,  and  a  wild  impulse  among 
Hilland's  men  to  follow  Graham  to  the  rescue,  but 
it  was  sternly  repressed  by  their  officers,  and  the 
whole  command  was  within  a  few  moments  on  a 
sharp  trot  toward  camp. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

ITS   FULFILMENT. 

GRAHAM  soon  slackened  his  pace  when  he 
found  that  he  was  not  pursued,  and  as  his 
friends  disappeared  he  returned  warily  to  the  brow 
of  the  eminence  and  watched  their  rapid  march  away 
from  the  ill-fated  locality.  He  rode  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill  as  if  he  was  following,  for  he  had  little 
doubt  that  the  movements  of  the  Union  force 
were  watched.  Having  tied  his  horse  where  he 
could  not  be  seen  from  the  grove,  he  crept  back  be- 
hind a  sheltering  bush,  and  with  his  glass  scanned 
the  scene  of  conflict.  In  the  road  leading  through 
the  grove  there  were  ambulances  removing  the 
wounded.  At  last  these  disappeared,  and  there  was 
not  a  living  object  in  sight.  He  watched  a  little 
longer,  and  buzzards  began  to  wheel  over  and  settle 
upon  the  battle-ground, — sure  evidence  that  for  the 
time  it  was  deserted. 

He  hesitated  no  longer.  Mounting  his  horse  he 
continued  down  the  hill  so  as  to  be  screened  from 
any  possible  observers,  then  struck  off  to  his  left  to 
a  belt  of  woods  that  extended  well  up  to  the  vicinity 
of  the  grove.     Making  his  way  through  this  bit  of 


ITS  FULFILMENT.  311 

forest,  he  soon  came  to  an  old  wood-road  partially 
grown  up  with  bushes,  and  pushed  his  way  rapidly 
back  toward  the  point  he  wished  to  attain.  Having 
approached  the  limits  of  the  belt  of  woods,  he  tied 
his  horse  in  a  thicket,  listened,  then  stole  to  the 
edge  nearest  the  grove.  It  appeared  deserted. 
Crouching  along  a  rail  fence  with  revolver  in  hand, 
he  at  last  reached  its  fatal  shade,  and  pushing 
through  its  fringe  of  lower  growth,  peered  cautiously 
around.  Here  and  there  he  saw  a  lifeless  body  or 
a  struggling,  wounded  horse,  over  which  the  buz- 
zards hovered,  or  on  which  they  had  already  settled. 
Disgusting  as  was  their  presence,  they  reassured  him, 
and  he  boldly  and  yet  with  an  awful  dread  at  heart 
began  his  search,  scanning  with  rapid  eye  each  pros- 
trate form  along  the  entire  back  edge  of  the  grove 
through  which  the  Union  forces  had  burst  in  their 
swift  retreat. 

He  soon  passed  beyond  all  traces  of  conflict,  and 
then  retraced  his  steps,  uttering  half-unconsciously 
and  in  a  tone  of  anguish  his  friend's  name.  As  he 
approached  what  had  been  the  extreme  right  of  the 
Union  line  in  their  retreat,  and  their  left  in  the  ad- 
vance, he  beheld  a  dead  horse  that  looked  familiar. 
He  sprang  forward  and  saw  that  it  was  Hilland's. 

"  Hilland  !  Warren  !"  he  shouted,  wild  with 
awful  foreboding. 

From  a  dense  thicket  near  he  heard  a  feeble 
groan.  Rushing  into  it  he  stumbled  against  the 
immense  mossy  trunk  of  a  prostrate,  decaying  tree. 
Concealed  beyond  it  lay  his  friend,  apparently  dying. 

"  O    Warren  !*'     he     cried,     "  my     friend,     my 


312  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

brother,  don't  you  know  me  ?  O,  live,  live  !  I 
can  rescue  you." 

There  was  no  response  from  the  slowly  gasping 
man. 

Graham  snatched  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and  wet 
the  pallid  lips  with  brandy,  and  then  caused  Hilland 
to  swallow  a  little.  The  stimulant  kindled  for  a  few 
moments  the  flame  of  life,  and  the  dying  man  slowly 
became  conscious. 

"  Graham,"  he  murmured  feebly, — "  Graham,  is 
that  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  and  I'll  save  you  yet.  O,  in  the 
name  of  Grace,  I  adjure  you  to  live." 

"  Alas  for  Grace  !     My  dream — will  come  true." 

"  O  Hilland,  no,  no  !  O  that  I  could  die  in 
your  place  !  What  is  my  life  to  yours  !  Rally,  War- 
ren, rally.  My  fleet  horse  is  tied  near,  or  if  you  are  too 
badly  wounded  I  will  stay  and  nurse  you.  I'll  fire  a 
pistol  shot  through  my  arm,  and  then  we  can  be  sent 
to  the  hospital  together.  Here,  take  more  brandy. 
That's  right.  With  your  physique  you  should  not 
think  of  death.  Let  me  lift  you  up  and  stanch  your 
wound." 

"  Don't  move  me,  Graham,  or  I'll  bleed  to  death 
instantly,  and — and — I  want  to  look  in  your  face — 
once  more,  and  send  my — true  love  to  Grace.  More 
brandy,  please.  It's  getting  light  again.  Before  it 
was  dark, — O,  so  dark  !     How  is  it  you  are  here  ?" 

"  I  came  back  for  you.  Could  I  ride  away  and 
you  not  with  me  ?  O  Warren,  I  must  save  your 
life.     I  must,  I  must  !" 

**  Leave  me,   Graham  ;  leave  me  at  once.     You 


ITS  FULFILMENT.  313 

will  be  captured,  if  not  killed,"  and  Hilland  spoke 
with  energy. 

''  I  will  never  leave  you.  There,  your  voice 
proves  that  your  strength  is  coming  back.  Warren^ 
Warren,  can't  you  live  for  Grace's  sake?" 

"Graham,"  said  Hilland,  solemnly,  "even  my 
moments  are  numbered.  One  more  gush  of  blood 
from  my  side  and  I'm  gone.  O,  shall  I  become 
nothing  ?  Shall  I  be  no  more  than  the  decaying 
tree  behind  which  I  crawled  when  struck  down  ? 
Shall  I  never  see  my  peerless  bride  again  ?  She 
would  always  have  been  a  bride  to  me.  I  can't  be- 
lieve it.  There  must  be  amends  somewhere  for  the 
agony  of  mind,  not  body,  that  I've  endured  as  I  lay 
here,  and  for  the  anguish  that  Grace  will  suffer. 
O  Graham,  my  philosophy  fails  me  in  this  strait, 
my  whole  nature  revolts  at  it.  Mere  corruption, 
chemical  change,  ought  not  to  be  the  end  of  a  man.'' 

"  Do  not  waste  your  strength  in  words.  Live, 
and  in  a  few  short  weeks  Grace  may  be  your  nurse. 
Take  more  brandy,  and  then  I'll  go  for  assistance." 

"  No,  Graham,  no.  Don't  leave  me.  Life  is 
ebbing  again.  Ah,  ah  !  farewell  —  true  friend. 
Un — bounded  love — Grace.  Commit — her — your 
care  !" 

There  was  a  convulsive  shudder  and  the  noble 
form  was  still, 

Graham  knelt  over  him  for  a  few  moments  in 
silent  horror.  Then  he  tore  open  Hilland 's  vest  and 
placed  his  hand  over  his  heart.  It  was  motionless. 
His  hand,  as  he  withdrew  it,  was  bathed  in  blood. 
He  poured  brandy  into  the  open  Hps,  but  the  power- 


314  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ful  stimulant  was  without  effect.  The  awful  truth 
overwhelmed  him. 

Hilland  was  dead. 

He  sat  down,  lifted  his  friend  up  against  his 
breast,  and  hung  over  him  with  short,  dry  sobs, — 
with  a  grief  far  beyond  tears,  careless,  reckless  of  his 
own  safety. 

The  bushes  near  him  were  parted,  and  a  sweet 
girlish  face,  full  of  fear,  wonder,  and  pity,  looked 
upon  him.  The  interpretation  of  the  scene  was  but 
too  evident,  and  tears  gushed  from  the  young  girl's 
eyes. 

"  O  sir,"  she  began  in  a  low,  faltering  voice. 

The  mourner  paid  no  heed. 

"  Please,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  do  not  grieve  so.  I 
never  saw  a  man  grieve  like  that.  O  papa,  papa, 
come,  come  here." 

The  quick  pride  of  manhood  was  touched,  and 
Graham  laid  his  friend  reverently  down,  and  stood 
erect,  quiet,  but  with  heaving  breast.  Hasty  steps 
approached,  and  a  gray-haired  man  stood  beside  the 
young  girl. 

"  I  am  your  prisoner,  sir,"  said  Graham,  "  but  in 
the  name  of  humanity  I  ask  you  to  let  me  bury  my 
dead." 

"  My  dear  young  sir,  in  the  name  of  humanity 
and  a  more  sacred  Name,  I  will  do  all  for  you  in  my 
power.  I  am  a  clergyman,  and  am  here  with  a  party 
from  a  neighboring  village,  charged  with  the  office  of 
burying  the  dead  with  appropriate  rites.  I  have  no 
desire  to  take  you  prisoner,  but  will  be  glad  to 
entertain  you  as  my  guest  if  the  authorities  will  per- 


ITS  FULFILMENT.  315 

mit.  Will  you  not  give  me  some  brief  explanation 
of  this  scene  while  they  are  gathering  up  the  dead  ?" 

Graham  did  so  in  a  few  sad  words.  The  daughter 
sat  crying  on  the  mossy  log  meanwhile,  and  the  old 
man  wiped  his  eyes  again  and  again. 

"  Was  there  ever  a  nobler-looking  man  ?"  sobbed 
the  girl ;  "  and  to  think  of  his  poor  wife  !  Papa,  he 
must  not  be  buried  here.  He  must  be  taken  to  our 
little  cemetery  by  the  church,  and  I  will  often  put 
flowers  on  his  grave." 

"  If  you  will  carry  out  this  plan,  sweet  child," 
said  Graham,  "  one  broken-hearted  woman  will  bless 
you  while  she  lives." 

"  Think,  papa, "  resumed  the  girl, — "  think  if  it 
was  our  Henry  what  we  would  wish." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  as  you  do,  my  child.  It  proves 
that  this  horrible  war  is  not  hardening  your  heart 
or  making  you  less  gentle  or  compassionate.  I  will 
carry  out  your  wishes  and  yours,  sir,  and  will  use  my 
whole  influence  to  prevent  your  noble  fidelity  to 
your  friend  from  becoming  the  cause  of  your  cap- 
tivity. I  will  now  summon  assistance  to  carry  your 
friend  to  the  road,  where  a  wagon  can  take  him  to 
the  village." 

In  a  few  moments  two  negro  slaves,  part  of  the 
force  sent  to  bury  the  dead,  with  their  tattered  hats 
doffed  out  of  respect,  slowly  bore  the  body  of  Hil- 
land  to  the  roadside.  Graham,  with  his  bare  head 
bowed  under  a  weight  of  grief  that  seemed  well-nigh 
crushing,  followed  closely,  and  then  the  old  clergy- 
man and  his  daughter.  They  laid  the  princely  form 
down  on  the  grass  beside  a  dark-haired  young  Con- 


3i6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

federate  officer,  who  was  also  to  be  taken  to  the 
cemetery. 

The  sad  rites  of  burial  which  the  good  old  man 
now  performed  over  both  friend  and  foe  of  subor- 
dinate rank  need  not  be  dwelt  upon.  While  they 
were  taking  place  Graham  stood  beside  his  friend 
as  motionless  as  if  he  had  become  a  statue,  heed- 
less of  the  crowd  of  villagers  and  country  people 
that  had  gathered  to  the  scene. 

At  last  a  sweet  voice  said,  "  Please,  sir,  it's  time 
to  go.  You  ride  with  papa.  I  am  young  and  strong 
and  can  walk." 

His  only  response  was  to  take  her  hand  and  kiss 
it  fervently.  Then  he  turned  to  her  father  and  told 
him  of  his  horse  that  was  hidden  in  the  nearest  edge 
of  the  belt  of  woods,  and  asked  that  it  might  be  sent 
for  by  some  one  who  was  trustworthy. 

"  Here  is  Sampson,  one  of  my  own  people  ;  I'd 
trust  him  with  all  I  have  ;"  and  one  of  the  negroes 
who  had  borne  the  body  of  Hilland  hastened  away 
as  directed,  and  soon  returned  with  the  beautiful 
horse  that  awakened  the  admiration  of  all  and  the 
cupidity  of  a  few  of  the  nondescript  characters  that 
had  been  drawn  to  the  place. 

A  rude  wagon  was  drawn  to  the  roadside,  its  rough 
boards  covered  with  leafy  boughs,  and  the  Union  and 
the  Confederate  officer  were  placed  in  it  side  by 
side.  Then  the  minister  chmbed  into  his  old-fash- 
ioned gig,  his  daughter  sprang  lightly  in  by  his  side, 
took  the  reins  and  slowly  led  the  way,  followed  by 
the  extemporized  hearse,  while  Graham  on  his  horse 
rode  at  the  feet  of  his  friend,  chief  mourner  in  bitter 


ITS  FULFILMENT.        .  317 

truth.  The  negroes  who  had  buried  the  dead 
walked  on  either  side  of  the  wagon  bare-headed  and 
obHvious  of  the  summer  sun,  and  the  country  people 
and  villagers  streamed  along  the  road  after  the  sim- 
ple procession. 

The  bodies  were  first  taken  to  the  parsonage,  and 
the  stains  of  battle  removed  by  an  old  colored  aunty, 
a  slave  of  the  clergyman.  Graham  gave  into  the 
care  of  the  clergyman's  daughter  Hilland's  sword 
and  some  other  articles  that  he  did  not  wish  to  carry 
on  his  return  to  the  Union  lines.  Among  these 
was  an  exquisite  likeness  of  Grace,  smiling  in  her 
happy  loveliness. 

Tears  again  rushed  into  the  young  girl's  eyes  as 
she  asked  in  accents  of  deepest  commiseration, 
"  And  will  you  have  to  break  the  news  to  her  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Graham,  hoarsely  ;  **  I  could  not  do 
that.  I'd  rather  face  a  thousand  guns  than  that 
poor  wife." 

"  Why  do  you  not  keep  the  likeness  ?" 

"  I  could  not  look  upon  it  and  think  of  the  change 
w^hich  this  fatal  day  will  bring  to  those  features.  I 
shall  leave  it  with  you  until  she  comes  for  his  sword 
and  to  visit  his  grave.  No  one  has  a  better  right  to 
it  than  you,  and  in  this  lovely  face  you  see  the 
promise  of  your  own  womanhood  reflected.  You 
have  not  told  me  your  name.  I  wish  to  know  it,  for 
I  shall  love  and  cherish  it  as  one  of  my  most  sacred 
memories." 

"  Margarita  Anderson,"  was  the  blushing  reply. 
*'  Papa  and  my  friends  call  me  Rita." 

**  Let  me  call  you  what  your  name  signifies,  and 


3i8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

what  you  have  proved  yourself  to  be, — Pearl.  Who 
is  Henry  ?" 

"  My  only  brother.  He  is  a  captain  in  our 
army. ' ' 

**  You  are  a  true  Southern  girl  ?" 

"Yes,  in  body  and  soul  I'm  a  Southern  girl;" 
and  her  dark  eyes  flashed  through  her  tears. 

"  So  was  the  original  of  this  likeness.  She  is  kin 
to  you  in  blood  and  feeling  as  well  as  in  her  noble 
qualities  ;  but  she  loved  her  Northern  husband  more 
than  the  whole  world,  and  all  in  it  was  nothing  com- 
pared with  him.  She  will  come  and  see  you  some 
day,  and  words  will  fail  her  in  thanks." 

*'  And  will  you  come  with  her?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  may  be  dead  long  before  that 
time." 

The  young  girl  turned  away,  and  for  some  reason 
her  tears  flowed  faster  than  ever  before. 

**  Pearl,  my  tender-hearted  child,  don't  grieve 
over  what  would  be  so  small  a  grief  to  me.  This 
evil  day  has  clouded  your  young  life  with  the  sad- 
ness of  others.  But  at  your  age  it  will  soon  pass  ;" 
and  he  returned  to  his  friend  and  took  from  him  the 
little  mementos  that  he  knew  would  be  so  dear  to 
Grace. 

Soon  after  the  two  bodies  were  borne  to  the 
quaint  old  church  and  placed  before  the  altar.  Both 
were  dressed  in  their  full  uniforms,  and  there  was  a 
noble  calmness  on  the  face  of  each  as  they  slum- 
bered side  by  side  in  the  place  sacred  to  the  God  of 
peace  and  at  peace  with  each  other  forevermore. 

For  an  hour  the  bell  tolled  slowly,  and  the  people 


ITS  FULFILMENT  319 

passed  in  at  one  door,  looked  upon  the  manly  forms, 
and  with  awed  faces  crept  out  at  the  other. 

It  was  indeed  a  memorable  day  for  the  villagers. 
They  had  been  awakened  in  the  dawn  by  sounds  of 
distant  conflict.  They  had  exulted  over  a  brilliant 
victory  as  the  Confederate  forces  came  marching 
rapidly  through  their  streets.  They  had  been  put 
on  the  qui  vive  to  know  what  the  rapid  movement 
of  their  troops  meant.  Some  of  the  most  severely 
wounded  had  been  left  in  their  care.  The  battle- 
field with  its  horrors  had  been  visited,  and  there  was 
to  be  a  funeral  service  over  two  actors  in  the  bloody 
drama,  whose  untimely  fate  excited  not  only  sympa- 
thy, but  the  deep  interest  and  curiosity  which  ever 
attends  upon  those  around  whom  rumor  has  woven 
a  romantic  history.  The  story  of  Graham's  return 
in  search  of  his  friend,  of  the  circumstances  of  their 
discovery  by  Rita,  of  the  likeness  of  the  lovely  wife 
who  would  soon  be  heart-broken  from  the  knowledge 
of  what  was  known  to  them,  had  got  abroad  among 
the  people,  and  their  warm  Southern  hearts  were 
more  touched  by  the  fate  of  their  Northern  foe  than 
by  that  of  the  officer  wearing  the  livery  of  their  own 
service,  but  of  whom  little  was  known. 

Graham's  profound  grief  also  impressed  them 
deeply  ;  and  the  presence  of  a  Union  officer,  sitting 
among  them,  forgetful  of  his  danger,  of  all  except 
that  his  friend  was  dead,  formed  a  theme  which 
would  be  dwelt  upon  for  months  to  come. 

Near  the  close  of  the  day,  after  some  appropriate 
words  in  the  church,  the  venerable  clergyman,  with 
his  white  locks  uncovered,  led  the  way  through  the 


320  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

cemetery  to  its  farther  side,  where,  under  the  shade 
of  an  immense  juniper-tree,  were  two  open  graves. 
As  before,  Graham  followed  his  friend,  and  after  him 
came  Rita  with  a  number  of  her  young  companions, 
dressed  in  white  and  carrying  baskets  of  flowers. 
After  an  impressive  burial  service  had  been  read,  the 
3'oung  girls  passed  to  and  fro  between  the  graves, 
throwing  flowers  in  each  and  singing  as  they  went  a 
hymn  breathing  the  certainty  of  the  immortality 
that  had  been  the  object  of  poor  Hilland's  longing 
aspiration.  Graham's  heart  thrilled  as  he  heard  the 
M^ords,  for  they  seemed  the  answer  to  his  friend's 
questions.  But,  though  his  feelings  might  be 
touched  deeply,  he  was  the  last  man  to  be  moved  by 
sentiment  or  emotion  from  a  position  to  which  his 
inexorable  reason  had  conducted  him. 

The  sun  threw  its  level  rays  over  a  scene  that  he 
never  forgot, — the  white-haired  clergyman  standing 
between  the  open  graves  ;  the  young  maidens,  led  by 
the  dark-eyed  Rita,  weaving  in  and  out,  their  white 
hands  and  arms  glowing  like  ivory  as  they  strewed 
the  flowers,  meanwhile  singing  with  an  unconscious 
grace  and  pathos  that  touched  the  rudest  hearts  ; 
the  concourse  of  people,  chiefly  women,  old  men, 
and  children,  for  the  young  and  strong  were  either 
mouldering  on  battle-fields  or  marching  to  others  ; 
the  awed  sable  faces  of  the  negroes  in  the  farther 
background  ;  the  exquisite  evening  sky  ;  the  songs 
of  unheeding  birds,  so  near  to  man  in  their  choice  of 
habitation,  so  remote  from  his  sorrows  and  anxieties, 
— all  combined  to  form  a  picture  and  a  memory 
which  would  be  vivid  and  real  to  his  latest  day. 


ITS  FULFILMENT.  321 

The  graves  were  at  last  filled  and  piled  up  with 
flowers.  Then  Graham,  standing  uncovered  before 
them  all,  spoke  slowly  and  earnestly  : — 

"  People  of  the  South,  you  see  before  you  a 
Northern  man,  an  officer  in  the  Union  Army  ;  but  as 
I  live  I  cherish  no  thought  of  enmity  toward  one  of 
you.  On  the  contrary  my  heart  is  overwhehned 
v/ith  gratitude.  You  have  placed  here  side  by  side 
two  brave  men.  You  have  rendered  to  their  dust 
equal  reverence  and  honor.  I  am  in  accord  with 
you.  I  believe  that  the  patriotism  of  one  was  as 
sincere  as  that  of  the  other,  the  courage  of  one  as 
high  as  that  of  the  other,  that  the  impulses  which 
led  them  to  offer  up  their  lives  were  equally  noble. 
In  your  generous  sympathy  for  a  fallen  foe  you  have 
proved  yourselves  Americans  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  word.  May  the  day  come  when  that  name  shall 
suffice  for  us  all.  Believe  me,  I  would  defend  your 
homes  and  my  own  with  equal  zeal  ;"  and  with  a 
bow  of  profound  respect  he  turned  to  the  grave  of 
his  friend. 

With  a  delicate  appreciation  of  his  wish,  the 
people,  casting  backward,  lingering,  sympathetic 
glances,  ebbed  away,  and  he  was  soon  left  alone. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

A    SOUTHERN    GIRL. 

WHEN  Graham  was  left  alone  he  knelt  and 
bowed  his  head  in  the  flowers  that  Rita  had 
placed  on  Hilland's  grave,  and  the  whole  horrible 
truth  seemed  to  grow,  to  broaden  and  deepen  like  a 
gulf  that  had  opened  at  his  feet.  Hilland,  who  had 
become  a  part  of  his  own  life  and  seemed  insepara- 
ble from  all  its  interests,  had  disappeared  forever. 
But  yesterday  he  was  the  centre  of  vast  interests 
and  boundless  love  ;  now  he  had  ceased  to  be.  The 
love  would  remain,  but  O  the  torture  of  a  boundless 
love  when  its  object  has  passed  beyond  its  reach  ! 

The  thought  of  Grace  brought  to  the  mourner  an 
indescribable  anguish.  Once  his  profound  love  for 
her  had  asserted  itself  in  a  way  that  had  stung  him 
to  madness,  and  the  evil  thought  had  never  returned. 
Now  she  seemed  to  belong  to  the  dead  husband 
even  more  than  when  he  was  living.  The  thought 
that  tortured  him  most  was  that  Grace  would  not 
long  survive  Hilland.  The  union  between  the  two 
had  been  so  close  and  vital  that  the  separation  might 
mean  death.  The  possibility  overwhelmed  him,  and 
he  grew  faint  and  sick.     Indeed  it  would  seem  that 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL.  323 

he  partially  lost  consciousness,  for  at  last  he  became 
aware  that  some  one  was  standing  near  and  pleading 
with  him.     Then  he  saw  it  was  Rita. 

"  O  sir,"  she  entreated,  "  do  not  grieve  so.  It 
breaks  my  heart  to  see  a  man  so  overcome.  It 
seems  terrible.  It  makes  me  feel  that  there  are 
depths  of  sorrow  that  frighten  me.  O,  come  with 
me, — do,  please.  I  fear  you've  eaten  nothing  to- 
day, and  we  have  supper  all  ready  for  you." 

Graham  tottered  to  his  feet  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  as  if  to  brush  away  an  evil  dream. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  you  look  sick  and  faint.  Take  my 
arm  and  lean  on  me.  I  assure  you  I  am  very 
strong." 

"  Yes,  Pearl,  you  are  strong.  Many  live  to  old 
age  and  never  become  as  true  a  v/oman  as  you  are 
to-day.  This  awful  event  has  well-nigh  crushed 
me,  and  now  I  think  of  it,  I  have  scarcely  tasted 
food  since  last  evening.  Thank  you,  my  child,  I 
will  take  your  arm.  In  an  hour  or  two  I  shall  gain 
self-control." 

"  My  heart  aches  for  you,  sir,"  she  said,  as  they 
passed  slowly  through  the  twilight. 

"  May  it  be  long  before  it  aches  from  any  sorrow 
of  your  own.  Pearl." 

The  parsonage  adjoined  the  church.  The  old 
clergyman  abounded  in  almost  paternal  kindness, 
and  pressed  upon  Graham  a  glass  of  home-made 
wine.  After  he  had  taken  this  and  eaten  a  little,  his 
strength  and  poise  returned,  and  he  gave  his  enter- 
tainers a  fuller  account  of  Hilland  and  his  relations, 
and  in  that  Southern  home  there  was  as  genuine 


324  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

sympathy  for  the  Inmates  of  the  Northern  home  as 
if  they  all  had  been  devoted  to  the  same  cause. 

"  There  are  many  subjects  on  which  we  differ," 
said  his  host.  "You  perceive  that  I  have  slaves, 
but  they  are  so  attached  to  me  that  I  do  not  think 
they  would  leave  me  if  I  offered  them  their  freedom. 
I  have  been  brought  up  to  think  slavery  right.  My 
father  and  grandfather  before  me  held  them  and 
always  treated  them  well.  I  truly  think  they  did 
better  by  them  than  the  bondsmen  could  have  done 
for  themselves.  To  give  them  liberty  and  send 
them  adrift  would  be  almost  like  throwing  little  chil- 
dren out  into  the  world.  I  know  that  there  are 
evils  and  abuses  connected  with  our  system,  but  I 
feel  sure  that  liberty  given  to  a  people  unfitted 
for  it  would  be  followed  by  far  greater  evils." 

"  It's  a  subject  to  which  I  have  given  very  little 
attention,"  Graham  replied.  "  I  have  spent  much 
of  my  life  abroad,  and  certainly  your  servants  are 
better  off  than  the  peasantry  and  very  poor  in  many 
lands  that  I  have  visited." 

With  a  kind  of  wonder  he  thought  of  the  truth 
that  Hilland,  who  so  hated  slavery,  had  been  lifted 
from  the  battle-field  by  slaves,  and  that  his  remains 
had  been  treated  with  reverent  honor  by  a  slave- 
holder. 

The  old  clergyman's  words  also  proved  that,  while 
he  deprecated  the  war  unspeakably,  his  whole  sym- 
pathy was  with  the  South.  His  only  son,  of  whom 
neither  he  nor  Rita  could  speak  without  looks  of 
pride  and  affection  kindling  in  their  faces,  was  in  the 
Confederate  service,  and  the  old  man  prayed  as  fer- 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL.  325 

vently  for  success  to  the  cause  to  which  he  had  de- 
voted the  treasure  of  his  life  as  any  Northern  father 
could  petition  the  God  of  nations  for  his  boy  and  the 
restoration  of  the  Union.  At  the  same  time  his 
nature  was  too  large,  too  highly  ennobled  by  Chris- 
tianity, for  a  narrow,  vindictive  bitterness.  He 
could  love  the  enemy  that  he  was  wiUing  his  son 
should  oppose  in  deadly  battle. 

"  We  hope  to  secure  our  independence,"  he  add- 
ed, "  and  to  work  out  our  national  development  ac- 
cording to  the  genius  of  our  own  people.  I  pray 
and  hope  for  the  time  when  the  North  and  South 
may  exist  side  by  side  as  two  friendly  nations. 
Your  noble  words  this  afternoon  found  their  echo  in 
my  heart.  Even  though  my  son  should  be  slain  by 
a  Northern  hand,  as  your  friend  has  been  by  a  South- 
ern, I  wish  to  cherish  no  vindictive  bitterness  and 
enmity.  The  question  must  now  be  settled  by  the 
stern  arbitrament  of  battle  ;  but  when  the  war  is 
over  let  it  not  be  followed  by  an  era  of  hate." 

He  then  told  Graham  how  he  had  lost  his  beloved 
wife  years  before,  and  how  lonely  and  desolate  he 
had  been  until  Rita  had  learned  to  care  for  him  and 
provide  for  his  comfort  with  almost  hourly  vigilance. 

"  Yes,"  said  Graham,  "  I  have  seen  it  ;  she  is  to 
you  what  my  friend's  wife  is  to  her  invalid  father, 
the  unspeakable  blessing  of  his  life.  How  it  will  be 
now  I  hardly  know,  for  I  fear  that  her  grief  will  de- 
stroy her,  and  the  old  major,  her  father,  could  not 
long  survive." 

A  note  was  now  handed  to  the  old  gentleman, 
who,   having  read  it,  appeared   greatly   distressed. 


326  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

After  a  moment's  hesitancy  he  gave  it  to  Graham, 
who  read  as  follows  : 

"  I  heard  the  North 'ner  speak  this  arternoon,  an' 
I  can't  be  one  to  take  and  rob  him  of  his  horse  and 
send  him  to  prison.  But  it'll  be  done  to-night  if 
you  can't  manage  his  escape.  Every  rode  is  watched, 
an'  your  house  will  be  searched  to-night. 

"  One  of  the  Band. 

"  You'll  burn  this  an'  keep  mum  or  my  neck  will 
be  stretched." 

"  Who  brought  the  note?"  Mr.  Anderson  asked, 
going  to  the  door  and  questioning  a  colored  woman. 

"  Dunno,  Mas'r.  De  do'  open  a  Httle,  and  de 
ting  flew  in  on  de  flo'." 

"  Well,"  said  Graham,  "  I  must  mount  and  go  at 
once  ;"  and  he  was  about  to  resume  his  arms. 

"Wait,  wait;  I  must  think!"  cried  his  host. 
"  For  you  to  go  alone  would  be  to  rush  into  the  very 
evils  we  are  warned  against.  I  am  pained  and 
humiliated  beyond  measure  by  this  communication. 
Mr.  Graham,  do  not  judge  us  harshly.  There  is,  I 
suppose,  a  vile  sediment  in  every  community,  and 
there  is  here  a  class  that  won't  enlist  in  open,  honor- 
able warfare,  but  prowl  around,  chiefly  at  night,  in- 
tent on  deeds  like  this. " 

"  Papa,"  said  Rita,  who  had  read  the  warning, 
"  I  know  what  to  do  ;"  and  her  brave  spirit  flashed 
in  her  eyes. 

"  You,  my  child  ?" 

"  Yes.     I'll  prove  to  Mr.  Graham  what  a  South- 


A    SOUTHERN  GIRL.  327 

ern  girl  will  do  for  a  guest, — for  one  who  has  trusted 
her.  The  deep,  deep  disgrace  of  his  capture  and 
robbery  shall  not  come  on  our  heads.  I  will  guide 
him  at  once  through  the  woods  to  old  Uncle  Jehu's 
cabin.  No  one  will  think  of  looking  for  him  there  ; 
for  there  is  little  more  than  a  bridle-path  leading  to 
it ;  but  I  know  the  way,  every  inch  of  it." 

"  But,  Rita,  I  could  send  one  of  the  servants  with 
Mr.  Graham." 

"  No,  papa  ;  he  would  be  missed  and  afterward 
questioned,  and  some  awful  revenge  taken  on  him. 
You  must  say  that  I  have  retired  when  the  villains 
come.  You  must  keep  all  our  servants  in.  Mr. 
Graham  and  I  will  slip  out.  He  can  saddle  his  horse, 
and  I,  you  know  well,  can  saddle  mine.  Now  we 
must  apparently  go  to  our  rooms  and  within  half  an 
hour  slip  out  unperceived  and  start.  No  one  will 
ever  dare  touch  me,  even  if  it  is  found  out." 

"  Pearl,  priceless  Pearl,  I'll  fight  my  way  through 
all  the  guerillas  in  the  land,  rather  than  subject  you 
to  peril." 

"  You  could  not  fight  your  way  through  them,  the 
cowardly  skulkers.  What  chance  would  you  have 
in  darkness  ?  My  plan  brings  me  no  peril,  for  if 
they  met  us  they  would  not  dare  to  touch  me.  But 
if  it  costs  me  my  life  I  will  go,"  she  concluded  pas- 
sionately. "  This  disgrace  must  not  fall  on  our 
people." 

"  Rita  is  right,"  said  the  old  clergyman,  solemnly. 
"  I  could  scarcely  survive  the  disgrace  of  having  a 
guest  taken  from  my  home,  and  they  would  have  to 
walk  over  my  prostrate  form  before  it  could  be  done  ; 


328  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

and  to  send  you  out  alone  would  be  even  more 
shameful.  The  plan  does  not  involve  much  peril  to 
Rita.  Although,  in  a  sense,  you  are  my  enemy,  I 
will  trust  this  pearl  beyond  price  to  your  protection, 
and  old  Jehu  will  return  with  her  until  within  a 
short  distance  of  the  house.  As  she  says,  I  think 
no  one  in  this  region  would  harm  her.  1  will  co- 
operate with  you,  Rita,  and  entreat  the  Heavenly 
Father  until  I  clasp  you  in  my  arms  again.  Act,  act 
at  once." 

Graham  was  about  to  protest  again,  but  she 
silenced  him  by  a  gesture  that  was  almost  imperi- 
ous. "  Don't  you  see  that  for  papa's  sake,  for  my 
own,  as  well  as  yours,  I  must  go.  Now  let  us  say 
good-night  as  if  we  were  parting  unsuspicious  of 
trouble.  When  I  tap  at  your  door,  Mr.  Graham, 
you  will  follow  me  ;  and  you,  papa,  try  to  keep  our 
people  in  ignorance." 

Graham  wrung  the  clergyman's  hand  in  parting, 
and  said,  "  You  will  always  be  to  me  a  type  of  the 
noblest  development  of  humanity." 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  sustain 
you  through  the  dangers  and  trying  scenes  before 
you.  I  am  but  a  simple  old  man,  trying  to  do  right 
with  God's  help.  And,  believe  me,  sir,  the  South 
is  full  of  men  as  sincere  as  I  am." 

Within  half  an  hour  Graham  followed  his  fair 
guide  down  a  back  stairway  and  out  into  the  dark- 
ness. Rita's  pony  was  at  pasture  in  a  field  adjoin- 
ing the  stable,  but  he  came  instantly  at  her  soft  call. 

"  I  shall  not  put  on  my  saddle,"  she  whispered. 
"  If  I  leave  it  hanging  in  the  stable  it  will  be  good 


A    SOUTHERN  GIRL. 


329 


evidence  that  I  am  In  my  room.  There  will  be  no 
need  of  our  riding  fast,  and,  indeed,  I  have  often 
ridden  without  a  saddle  for  fun.  I  will  guide  you  to 
your  horse  and  saddle  in  the  dark  stable,  for  we 
must  take  him  out  of  a  back  door,  so  that  there  will 
be  no  sound  of  his  feet  on  the  boards." 

Within  a  few  moments  they  were  passing  like 
shadows  down  a  shaded  lane  that  led  from  the  house 
to  the  forest,  and  then  entered  what  was  a  mere 
bridle-path,  the  starlight  barely  enabling  the  keen- 
eyed  Rita  to  make  it  out  at  times.  The  thick 
woods  on  either  side  prevented  all  danger  of  flank 
attacks.  After  riding  some  little  time  they  stopped 
and  hstened.  The  absolute  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  cries  of  the  wild  creatures  of  the  night,  convinced 
them  that  they  were  not  followed.  Then  Rita  said> 
"  Old  Jehu  has  a  bright  boy  of  sixteen  or  there- 
abouts, and  he'll  guide  you  north  through  the 
woods  as  far  as  he  can,  and  then  God  will  protect 
and  guide  you  until  you  are  safe.  I  know  He  will 
help  you  to  escape,  that  you  may  say  words  of  com- 
fort to  the  poor,  broken-hearted  wife." 

"  Yes,  Pearl,  I  think  I  shall  escape.  I  take  your 
guidance  as  a  good  omen.  If  I  could  only  be  sure 
that  no  harm  came  to  you  and  your  noble  father  !" 

"  The  worst  of  harm  would  have  come  to  us  had 
we  permitted  the  evil  that  was  threatened." 

"  You  seem  very  young.  Pearl,  and  yet  you  are  in 
many  ways  very  mature  and  womanly." 

"  lamyoung,— only  sixteen, —but  mamma's  death 
and  the  responsibihty  it  brought  me  made  my  child- 
hood brief.     Then  Henry  is  five  years  older  than  I, 


SZO  friS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

and  I  always  played  with  him,  and,  of  course,  you 
know  I  tried  to  reach  up  to  those  things  that  he 
thought  about  and  did.  I've  never  been  to  school. 
Papa  is  educating  me,  and  O,  he  knows  so  much, 
and  he  makes  knowledge  so  interesting,  that  I  can't 
help  learning  a  little.  And  then  Henry's  going  into 
the  war,  and  all  that  is  happening,  makes  me  feel  so 
very,  very  old  and  sad  at  times  ;"  and  so  she  contin- 
ued in  low  tones  to  tell  about  herself  and  Henry  and 
her  father,  of  their  hopes  of  final  victory,  and  all 
that  made  up  her  life.  This  she  did  with  a  guile- 
less frankness,  and  yet  with  a  refined  reserve  that  was 
indescribable  in  its  simple  pathos  and  beauty.  In 
spite  of  himself  Graham  was  charmed  and  soothed, 
while  he  wondered  at  the  exquisite  blending  of  girl- 
hood and  womanhood  in  his  guide.  She  also  ques- 
tioned him  about  the  North  and  the  lands  he  had 
visited,  about  his  aunt  and  Grace  and  her  father  ; 
and  Graham's  tremulous  tones  as  he  spoke  of  Grace 
led  her  to  say  sorrowfully,  "Ah,  she  is  very,  very 
dear  to  you  also." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "imitating  her  frankness,  "she 
is  dearer  to  me  than  my  life.  I  would  gladly  have 
died  in  Hilland's  place  to  have  saved  her  this  sorrow. 
Were  it  not  for  the  hope  of  serving  her  in  some  way, 
death  would  have  few  terrors  to  me.  There,  my 
child,  I  have  spoken  to  you  as  I  have  to  only  one 
other,  my  dear  old  aunty,  who  is  like  a  mother. 
Your  noble  trust  begets  trust." 

Then  he  became  aware  that  she  was  crying  bit- 
terly. 

"  Pearl,  Pearl,"  he  said,  "  don't  cry.      I  have  be- 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL.  331 

come  accustomed  to  a  sad  heart,  and  it's  an  old,  old 
story. ' ' 

"  O  Mr.  Graham,  I  remember  hearing  mamma 
say  once  that  women  learn  more  through  their  hearts 
than  their  heads.  I  have  often  thought  of  her 
words,  and  I  think  they  must  be  true.  Almost  from 
the  first  my  heart  told  me  that  there  was  something 
about  you  which  made  you  different  from  other  peo- 
ple. Why  is  the  world  so  full  of  trouble  of  every 
kind  ?  Ah  well,  papa  has  taught  me  that  Heaven 
will  make  amends  for  everything." 

They  had  now  reached  a  little  clearing,  and  Rita 
said  that  they  were  near  Jehu's  cabin,  and  that  their 
final  words  had  better  be  said  before  awakening  the 
old  man.  "  I  must  bathe  my  face,  too,"  she  added, 
**  for  he  would  not  understand  my  tears,"  and  went 
to  a  clear  little  spring  but  a  few  paces  away. 

Graham  also  dismounted.  When  she  returned  he 
took  her  hand  and  raised  it  reverently  to  his  lips  as 
he  said,  "  Pearl,  this  is  not  a  case  for  ordinary  thanks. 
I  no  doubt  owe  my  life,  certainly  my  liberty,  to  you. 
On  that  I  will  not  dwell.  I  owe  to  you  and  your 
father  far  more,  and  so  does  poor  Grace  Hilland. 
You  insured  a  burial  for  my  friend  that  will  bring  a 
world  of  comfort  to  those  who  loved  him.  The 
thought  of  your  going  to  his  grave  and  placing  upon 
it  fresh  flowers  from  time  to  time  will  contain  more 
balm  than  a  thousand  words  of  well-meant  condo- 
lence. Pearl,  my  sweet,  pure,  noble  child,  is  there 
nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  faltered  ;  "  it  may  be  that  you  can  re- 
turn all  that  we  have  done  a  hundred-fold.     It  may 


332  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

be  that  you  will  meet  Henry  in  battle.  In  the 
memory  of  his  little  sister  you  will  spare  him,  will 
you  not  ?  If  he  should  be  captured  I  will  tell 
him  to  write  to  you,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  will 
remember  our  lonely  ride  and  the  gray  old  father 
who  is  praying  for  you  now,  and  will  not  leave  him 
to  suffer/' 

Graham  drew  a  seal  ring  from  his  finger  and  said  : 
"  Dear  Pearl,  take  this  as  a  pledge  that  I  will  serve 
him  in  any  way  in  my  power  and  at  any  cost  to  my- 
self. I  hope  the  day  will  come  when  he  will  honor 
me  with  his  friendship,  and  I  would  as  soon  strike 
the  friend  I  have  lost  as  your  brother." 

"  Now  I  am  content,"  she  said.  "  I  believe 
every  word  you  say. 

"And  Grace  Hilland  will  come  some  day  and 
claim  you  as  a  sister  dearly  beloved.  And  I,  sweet 
Pearl,  will  honor  your  memory  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 
The  man  who  wins  you  as  his  bride  may  well  be 
prouder  than  an  emperor." 

*'  O  no,  Mr.  Graham,  I'm  just  a  simple  South- 
ern girl." 

"  There  are  few  like  you,  I  fear.  South  or  North. 
You  are  a  girl  to  kindle  every  manly  instinct  and 
power,  and  I  shall  be  better  for  having  known  you. 
The  hope  of  serving  you  and  yours  in  some  way  and 
at  some  time  will  give  a  new  zest  and  value  to  my 
life." 

' '  Do  not  speak  so  kindly  or  I  shall  cry  again. 
I've  been  afraid  you  would  think  me  silly,  I  cry  so 
easily.  I  do  not  think  we  Southern  girls  are  like 
those  at  the  North.     They  are  colder,  I  imagine,  or 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL.  333 

at  least  more  able  to  control  their  feelings.  Papa 
says  I  am  a  child  of  the  South.  I  can't  decide  just 
how  much  or  how  little  I  ought  to  feel  on  all  occa- 
sions, and  ever  since  I  saw  you  mourning  over  your 
friend  with  just  such  passionate  grief  as  I  should  feel, 
my  whole  heart  has  ached  for  you.  You  will  come 
and  see  us  again  if  you  have  a  chance?" 

"  I  will  make  chances,  Pearl,  even  though  they 
involve  no  little  risk." 

"  No,  no  ;  don't  do  that.  You  ought  to  care  too 
much  for  us  to  do  that.  Nothing  would  give  me 
pleasure  that  brought  danger  to  you.  If  I  could 
only  know  that  you  reached  your  friends  in  safety  !" 

"  I'll  find  a  way  of  letting  you  know  if  I  can." 

"Well,  then,  good-by.  It's  strange,  but  you 
seem  like  an  old,  old  friend.  O,  I  know  Henry 
will  like  you,  and  that  you  will  like  him.  Next  to 
mamma's,  your  ring  shall  be  my  dearest  treasure.  I 
shall  look  at  it  every  night  and  think  I  have  added 
one  more  chance  of  Henry's  safety.  O,  I  could 
worship  the  man  who  saved  his  life." 

"  And  any  man  might  worship  you.  Good-by, 
Pearl  ;"  and  he  kissed  her  hand  again  and  again, 
then  lifted  her  on  her  pony  with  a  tenderness  that 
was  almost  an  embrace,  and  she  rode  slowly  to  the 
door  of  a  little  log  cabin,  while  Graham  remained 
concealed  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods  until  it  was 
made  certain  that  no  one  was  in  the  vicinity  except 
Jehu  and  his  family. 

The  old  man  was  soon  aroused,  and  his  ejacula- 
tions and  exclamations  were  innumerable. 

*'  No,  missy,  dars  no  un  been  roun'  heah  for  right 


334  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

smart  days.  It's  all  safe,  an*  Jehu  an*  his  ole  ooman 
knows  how  ter  keep  mum  when  Mas'r  Anderson  says 
mum  ;  an'  so  does  my  peart  boy  Huey," — who, 
named  for  his  father,  was  thus  distinguished  from 
him.  "  An' de  hossifer  is  a  Linkum  man  ?  Sho, 
sho  !  who'd  a  tink  it,  and  his  own  son  a  'Federate  ! 
Well,  well,  Mas'r  Anderson  isn't  low-down  white' 
trash.  If  he  thought  a  ting  was  right  I  reckon  de 
hull  worl'  couldn't  make  him  cut  up  any  white-trash 
didoes." 

When  Rita  explained  further  the  old  negro  replied 
with  alacrity  :  "  Ob  cose  Jehu  will  took  you  home 
safe,  an'  proud  he'll  be  ter  go  wid  you,  honey. 
You'se  a  mighty  peart  little  gal,  an'  does  you'se 
blood  an'  broughten  up  jestice.  Mighty  few  would 
dar*  ride  five  mile  troo  de  lonesome  woods  wid  a 
strange  hossifer,  if  he  be  a  Linkum  man.  He  mus' 
be  sumpen  like  Linkum  hisself.  Yes,  if  you  bain't 
afeared  ter  show  him  de  way,  Huey  needn't  be  ;*' 
and  the  boy,  who  was  now  wide  awake,  said  he'd 
"  like  notten  better  dan  showin'  a  Linkum  man  troo 
de  woods.  *  * 

Graham  was  summoned,  and  in  a  few  moments  all 
was  arranged. 

He  then  drew  the  old  man  aside  and  said,  "  You 
good,  faithful  old  soul,  take  care  of  that  girl  as  the 
apple  of  your  eye,  for  she  has  only  one  equal  in  the 
world.  Here  is  one  hundred  dollars.  That  will  pay 
for  a  good  many  chickens  and  vegetables,  won't  it  ?" 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  Mas'r,  dey  ain't  chickens  nuff  in 
Ole  Virginny  to  brought  hundred  dollars." 

"Well,    I'll   tell  you   what   I'm   afraid   of.     This 


A    SOUTHERN  GIRZ. 


335 


region  may  be  wasted  by  war,  like  so  many  others. 
You  may  not  be  troubled  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place.  If  Mr.  Anderson's  family  is  ever  in  need, 
you  are  now  paid  to  supply  them  with  all  that  you 
can  furnish." 

"  'Deed  I  is,  Mas'r,  double  paid." 
"  Be  faithful  to  them  and  you  shall  have  more 
*  Linkum  money,'  as  you  call  it.     Keep  it,  for  your 
money  down  here  won't  be  worth  much  soon." 

"  Dat's  shoah.  De  cullud  people  bain't  all  prayin' 
for  Linkum  for  notten." 

"  Good-by.     Do  as  I  say  and  you  shall  be  taken 
care  of  some  day.     Say  nothing  about  this." 
"  Mum's  de  word  all  roun'  ter-night,  Mas'r." 
"  Huey,  are  you  ready  ?" 
"  I  is,  Mas'r." 

"Lead  the  way,  then;"  and  again  approaching 
Rita,  Graham  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  low  as  he 
said,  "Give  my  grateful  greeting  to  your  honored 
father,  and  may  every  hope  of  his  heart  be  fulfilled 
in  return  for  his  good  deeds  to-day.  As  for  you. 
Miss  Anderson,  no  words  can  express  my  profound 
respect  and  unbounded  gratitude.  We  shall  meet 
again  in  happier  times;"  and  backing  his  horse, 
while  he  still  remained  uncovered,  he  soon  turned 
and  followed  Huey. 

"Well,  now,"  ejaculated  Jehu.  " 'Clar  ter  you 
ef  dat  ar  Linkum  hossifer  bain't  nigh  onter  bein'  as 
fine  a  gemman  as  Mas'r  Henry  hisself.  Won't 
you  take  some  'freshment,  missy?  No?  Den  I'se 
go  right  'long  wid  you." 

Rita  enjoined  silence,  ostensibly  for  the  reason 


336  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

that  it  was  prudent,  but  chiefly  that  she  might  have 
a  respite  from  the  old  man's  garrulousness.  Her 
thoughts  were  very  busy.  The  first  romance  of  her 
young  life  had  come,  and  she  still  felt  on  her  hands 
the  kisses  that  had  been  so  warm  and  sincere, 
although  she  knew  they  were  given  by  one  who 
cherished  a  hopeless  love.  After  all,  it  was  but  her 
vivid  Southern  imagination  that  had  been  kindled 
by  the  swift,  strange  events  of  the  past  twenty-four 
hours.  With  the  fine  sense  of  the  best  type  of 
dawning  womanhood,  she  had  been  deeply  moved 
by  Graham's  strong  nature.  She  had  seen  in  him  a 
love  for  another  man  that  was  as  tender  and 
passionate  as  that  of  a  woman,  and  yet  it  was 
bestowed  upon  the  husband  of  the  woman  whom  he 
had  loved  for  years.  That  he  had  not  hesitated 
to  risk  captivity  and  death  in  returning  for  his  friend 
proved  his  bravery  to  be  unlimited,  and  a  Southern 
girl  adores  courage.  For  a  time  Graham  would  be 
the  ideal  of  her  girlish  heart.  His  words  of  ad- 
miration and  respect  were  dwelt  upon,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  unseen  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
forest.  Again  her  tears  would  fall  fast  as  she 
thought  of  his  peril  and  of  all  the  sad  scenes  of 
the  day  and  the  sadder  ones  still  to  come.  Grace 
Hilland,  a  Southern  girl  like  herself,  became  a 
glorified  image  to  her  fancy,  and  it  would  now  be 
her  chief  ambition  to  be  like  her.  She  would  keep 
her  lovely  portrait  on  her  bureau  beside  her  Bible, 
and  it  should  be  almost  equally  sacred. 

In  the  edge  of  the  forest   she  parted  from  Jehu 
with  many  and  warm  thanks,  for  she  thought  it  wise 


A    SOUTHERN   GIRL.  337 

that  there  should  not  be  the  sh'ghtest  chance  of  his 
being  seen.  She  also  handed  him  a  Confederate  bill 
out  of  her  slender  allowance,  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder  as  she  would  some  faithful  animal,  and 
rode  away.  He  crept  rJong  after  her  till  he  saw  her 
let  down  some  bars  and  turn  her  pony  into  the 
fields.  He  then  crept  on  till  he  saw  her  enter  a 
door,  and  then  stole  back  to  the  forest  and  shambled 
homeward  as  dusky  as  the  shadows  in  which  he 
walked,  chuckling,  *'  Missy  Rita,  sweet  honey,  guv 
me  one  of  dem  'Federate  rags.  O  golly  !  I'se  got 
more  money — live  Linkum  money — dan  Mas'r  An- 
derson hisself,  and  I'se  got  notten  ter  do  but  raise 
chickens  an'  garden  sass  all  my  born  days.  Missy 
Rita's  red  cheeks  never  grow  pale  long  as  Jehu  or 
Huey  can  tote  chickens  and  sass." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

GUERILLAS. 

GRAHAM,  beyond  a  few  low,  encouraging  words, 
held  his  peace  and  also  enjoined  silence  on  his 
youthful  guide.  His  plan  was  to  make  a  wide  circuit 
around  the  battle-field  of  the  previous  day,  and  then 
strike  the  trail  of  the  Union  forces,  which  he  be- 
lieved he  could  follow  at  night.  Huey  thought  that 
this  could  be  done  and  that  they  could  keep  in  the 
shelter  of  the  woods  most  of  the  distance,  and  this 
they  accomplished,  reconnoitring  the  roads  most 
carefully  before  crossing  them.  Huey  was  an  in- 
veterate trapper  ;  and  as  his  pursuit  was  quite  as 
profitable  as  raising  "  sass,"  old  Jehu  gave  the  boy 
his  own  way.  Therefore  he  knew  every  path  through 
the  woods  for  miles  around. 

The  dawn  was  in  the  east  before  Graham  reached 
the  Union  trail,  and  he  decided  to  spend  the  day  in 
a  dense  piece  of  woods  not  very  far  distant.  Huey 
soon  settled  the  question  of  Mayburn's  provender 
by  purloining  a  few  sheaves  of  late  oats  from  a  field 
that  they  passed  ;  but  when  they  reached  their  hid- 
ing-place Graham  was  conscious  that  he  was  in  need 
of  food  himself,  and  he  also  remembered  that  a  buy 
is  always  ravenous. 


GUERILLAS.  339 

"Well,  Huey,"  he  said,  "in  providing  for  the 
horse  you  have  attended  to  the  main  business,  but 
what  are  we  going  to  do  ?" 

We'se  gwine  ter  do  better'n  de  hoss.  If  Mas'r  '11 
'zamine  his  saddle-bags,  reckon  he'll  fine  dat  Missy 
Rita  hain't  de  leddy  to  sen'  us  off  on  a  hunt  widout  a 
bite  of  suthin'  good.  She  sez,  sez  she  to  me,  in  kind 
o'  whisper  like,  '  Mas'r  Graham'll  fine  suthin'  you'll 
like,  Huey  ;  '  "  and  the  boy  eyed  the  saddle-bags 
like  a  young  wolf. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  blessed  girl  !"  cried 
Graham,  as  he  pulled  out  a  flask  of  wine,  a  fowl  cut 
into  nice  portions,  bread,  butter,  and  relishes, — in- 
deed, the  best  that  her  simple  housekeeping  afforded 
in  the  emergency.  In  the  other  bag  there  was  also 
a  piece  of  cake  of  such  portentous  size  that  Huey 
clasped  his  hands  and  rolled  up  his  eyes  as  he  had 
seen  his  parents  do  when  the  glories  of  heaven  were 
expatiated  upon  in  the  colored  prayer-meetings. 

"  That's  all  for  you,  Huey,  and  here's  some 
bread  and  cold  ham  to  go  with  it.  When  could 
she  have  provided  these  things  so  thoughtfully  ?  It 
must  have  been  before  she  called  me  last  night. 
Now,  Huey,  if  you  ever  catch  anything  extra  nice  in 
the  woods  you  take  it  to  Miss  Rita.  There  is  ten 
dollars  to  pay  you  ;  and  when  the  Lincoln  men  get 
possession  here  I'll  look  after  you  and  give  you  a  fine 
chance,  if  you  have  been  faithful.  You  must  not 
tell  Miss  Rita  what  I  say,  but  seem  to  do  all  of  your 
own  accord.  I  wish  I  had  more  money  with  me, 
but  you  will  see  me  again,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right 
with  you." 


340  J^IS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

*'  It's  all  right  now,  Mas'r.  What  wouldn't  I  do 
for  Missy  Rita  ?  When  my  ole  mammy  was  sick 
she  bro't  med'cin,  and  a  right  smart  lot  ob  tings, 
and  brung  her  troo  de  weariness.  Golly  !  Wonder 
Missy  Rita  don't  go  straight  up  ter  heben  like  dem 
rackets  dey  shoots  when  de  'Federates  say  dey  hab  a 
vict'ry  ;"  and  then  the  boy's  mouth  became  so  full 
that  he  was  speechless  for  a  long  time. 

The  sense  of  danger,  and  the  necessity  for  the 
utmost  vigilance,  had  diverted  Graham's  thoughts 
during  his  long  night  ride  ;  and  with  a  soldier's  habit 
he  had  concentrated  his  faculties  on  the  immediate 
problem  of  finding  the  trail,  verifying  Huey's  local 
knowledge  by  observation  of  the  stars.  Now,  in  the 
cool  summer  morning,  with  Rita's  delicious  repast 
before  him,  life  did  not  seem  so  desperate  a  thing  as 
on  the  day  before.  Although  exceedingly  wearied, 
the  strength  of  mind  which  would  enable  him  to 
face  his  sad  tasks  was  returning.  He  thought  little 
about  the  consequences  of  his  disobedience  to  orders, 
and  cared  less.  If  he  lost  his  rank  he  would  enlist 
as  a  private  soldier  after  he  had  done  all  in  his  power 
for  Grace,  who  had  been  committed  to  his  care  by 
Hilland's  last  words.  He  felt  that  she  had  the  most 
sacred  claims  upon  him,  and  yet  he  queried,  *'  What 
can  I  do  for  her  beyond  communicating  every  detail 
of  her  husband's  last  hours  and  his  burial  ?  What 
remedy  is  there  for  a  sorrow  like  hers  ?" 

At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  a  lifelong  and 
devoted  friendship  might  bring  solace  and  help  at 
times,  and  this  hope  gave  a  new  value  to  his  life. 
He  also  thought  it  very  possible  that  the  strange 


GUERILLAS.  341 

vicissitudes  of  war  might  put  it  in  his  power  to  serve 
the  Andersons,  in  whom  he  felt  a  grateful  interest 
that  only  such  scenes  as  had  just  occurred  could  have 
awakened.  It  would  ever  be  to  him  a  source  of  un- 
alloyed joy  to  add  anything  to  Rita  Anderson's 
happiness. 

His  kind  old  aunt,  too,  had  her  full  share  of  his 
thoughts  as  he  reclined  on  the  dun-colored  leaves  of 
the  previous  year,  and  reviewed  the  past  and  planned 
for  the  future.  He  recalled  her  words,  "  that  good 
would  come  of  it,"  when  he  had  promised  to  "  live 
and  do  his  best."  Although  in  his  own  life  he  had 
missed  happiness,  there  was  still  a  prospect  of  his 
adding  much  to  the  well-being  of  others. 

But  how  could  he  meet  Grace  again  ?  He  trem- 
bled at  the  very  thought.  Her  grief  would  unman 
him.  It  was  agony  even  to  imagine  it  ;  and  she 
might,  in  her  ignorance  of  an  officer's  duties  in  bat- 
tle, think  that  if  he  had  kept  near  Hilland  the  awful 
event  might  have  been  averted. 

After  all,  he  could  reach  but  one  conclusion, — to 
keep  his  old  promise  "to  do  his  best,"  as  circum- 
stances indicated. 

Asking  Huey,  who  had  the  trained  ear  of  a  hunter, 
to  watch  and  listen,  he  took  some  sleep  in  prepara- 
tion for  the  coming  night,  and  then  gave  the  boy  a 
chance  to  rest. 

The  day  passed  quietly,  and  in  the  evening  he 
dismissed  Huey,  with  assurances  to  Rita  and  her 
father  that  a  night's  ride  would  bring  him  within  the 
Union  lines,  and  that  he  now  knew  the  way  well. 
The  boy  departed   in   high   spirits,  feeling  that  he 


342  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

would  like  "  showin'  Linkum  men  troo  de  woods," 
even  better  than  trapping. 

Then  looking  well  to  his  arms,  and  seeing  that 
they  were  ready  for  instant  use,  Graham  started  on 
his  perilous  ride,  walking  his  horse  and  stopping  to 
listen  from  time  to  time.  Once  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  night  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and 
drawing  back  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the  woods  he 
saw  three  or  four  men  gallop  by.  They  were  un- 
doubtedly guerillas  looking  for  him,  or  on  some 
prowl  with  other  objects  in  view.  At  last  he  knew 
he  must  be  near  his  friends,  and  he  determined  to 
push  on,  even  though  the  dawn  was  growing  bright ; 
but  he  had  hardly  reached  this  conclusion  when  but 
a  short  distance  in  advance  a  dozen  horsemen  dashed 
out  of  a  grove  and  started  toward  him. 

They  were  part  of  *'  The  Band,"  who,  with  the 
instincts  of  their  class,  conjectured  too  truly  that, 
since  he  had  eluded  them  thus  far,  their  best  chance 
to  intercept  him  would  be  at  his  natural  approach  to 
the  Union  lines  ;  and  now,  with  the  kind  of  joy  pe- 
culiar to  themselves,  they  felt  that  their  prey  was 
in  their  power  beyond  all  hope  of  escape,  for  Graham 
was  in  plain  sight  upon  a  road  enclosed  on  either 
side  by  a  high  rail  fence.  There  were  so  many  guer- 
illas that  there  was  not  a  ghost  of  a  chance  in  fight- 
ing or  riding  through  them,  and  for  a  moment  his 
position  seemed  desperate. 

"  It's  Mayburn  to  the  rescue  now,"  he  muttered, 
and  he  turned  and  sped  away,  and  every  leap  of 
his  noble  horse  increased  the  distance  between  him 
and  his  pursuers.     His  confidence  soon  returned,  for 


GUERILLAS.  343 

he  felt  that  unless  something  unforeseen  occurred  he 
could  ride  all  around  them.  His  pursuers  fired  two 
shots,  which  were  harmless  enough,  but  to  his  dismay- 
Graham  soon  learned  that  they  were  signals,  for  from 
a  farm-house  near  other  horsemen  entered  the  road, 
and  he  was  between  two  parties. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Glancing  ahead 
he  saw  a  place  where  the  fence  had  lost  a  rail  or  two. 
He  spurred  toward  it,  and  the  gallant  horse  flew  over 
like  a  bird  into  a  wide  field  fringed  on  the  farther 
side  by  a  thick  growth  of  timber.  Bullets  from  the 
intercepting  party  whizzed  around  him  ;  but  he  sped 
on  unharmed,  while  his  pursuers  only  stopped  long 
enough  to  throw  off  a  few  rails,  and  then  both  of  the 
guerilla  squads  rode  straight  for  the  woods,  with  the 
plan  of  keeping  the  fugitive  between  them,  knowing 
that  in  its  tangle  he  must  be  caught. 

Graham  resolved  to  risk  another  volley  in  order  to 
ride  around  the  pursuers  nearest  the  Union  lines, 
thus  throwing  them  in  the  rear,  with  no  better  chance 
than  a  stern  chase  would  give  them.  In  order  to 
accomplish  this,  however,  he  had  to  circle  very  near 
the  woods,  and  in  doing  so  saw  a  promising  wood 
road  leading  into  them.  The  yelling  guerillas  were 
so  close  as  to  make  his  first  plan  of  escape  extremely 
hazardous  ;  therefore  following  some  happy  instinct 
he  plunged  into  the  shade  of  the  forest.  The  road 
proved  narrow,  but  it  was  open  and  unimpeded  by 
overhanging  boughs.  Indeed,  the  trees  were  the 
straight,  slender  pines  in  which  the  region  abounded, 
and  he  gained  on  all  of  his  pursuers  except  two,  who, 
like  himself,  were  superbly  mounted.     The  thud  of 


344  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

their  horses'  hoofs  kept  near,  and  he  feared  that  he 
might  soon  come  to  some  obstruction  which  would 
bring  them  to  close  quarters.  Mayburn  was  giving 
signs  of  weariness,  for  his  mettle  had  been  sorely- 
tried  of  late,  and  Graham  resolved  to  ambush  his 
pursuers  if  possible.  An  opportunity  occurred  speed- 
ily, for  the  road  made  a  sharp  turn,  and  there  was 
a  small  clearing  where  the  timber  had  been  cut.  The 
dawn  had  as  yet  created  but  a  twilight  in  the  woods, 
and  the  obscurity  aided  his  purpose.  He  drew  up 
by  the  roadside  at  the  beginning  of  the  clearing, 
and  in  a  position  where  he  could  not  readily  be  seen 
until  the  guerillas  were  nearly  abreast,  and  waited, 
with  his  heavy  revolver  in  hand  and  his  drawn  sword 
lying  across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

On  they  came  at  a  headlong  pace,  and  passed  into 
the  clearing  but  a  few  feet  away.  There  were  two 
sharp  reports,  with  the  slightest  possible  interval. 
The  first  man  dropped  instantly  ;  the  other  rode 
wildly  for  a  few  moments  and  then  fell  headlong, 
while  the  riderless  horses  galloped  on  for  a  time. 

Graham,  however,  soon  overtook  them,  and  with 
far  more  compunction  than  he  had  felt  in  shooting 
their  riders,  he  struck  them  such  a  blow  with  his 
sword  on  their  necks,  a  little  back  of  their  ears,  that 
they  reeled  and  fell  by  the  roadside.  He  feared 
those  horses  more  than  all  "The  Band;"  for  if 
mounted  again  they  might  tire  Mayburn  out  in  a 
prolonged  chase. 

To  his  great  joy  the  wood  lane  soon  emerged  into 
another  large  open  field,  and  he  now  felt  compara- 
tively safe. 


GUERILLAS.  345 

The  guerillas,  on  hearing  the  shots,  spurred  on 
exultantly,  feeling  sure  of  their  prey,  but  only  to 
stumble  over  their  fallen  comrades.  One  was  still 
able  to  explain  the  mode  of  their  discomfiture  ;  and 
the  dusky  road  beyond  at  once  acquired  wholesome 
terrors  for  the  survivors,  who  rode  on  far  more  slowly 
and  warily,  hoping  now  for  little  more  than  the 
recapture  of  the  horses,  which  were  the  envy  of  all 
their  lawless  hearts.  Your  genuine  guerilla  will 
always  incur  a  heavy  risk  for  a  fine  horse.  They 
soon  discovered  the  poor  brutes,  and  saw  at  a  glance 
that  they  would  be  of  no  more  service  in  irregular 
prowlings.  Infuriated  more  at  the  loss  of  the  beasts 
than  at  that  of  the  men,  they  again  rushed  forward 
only  to  see  Graham  galloping  easily  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Even  in  their  fury  they  recognized  that  further 
pursuit  was  useless,  and  with  bitter  curses  on  their 
luck  they  took  the  saddles  from  the  fallen  horses, 
and  carried  their  associates,  one  dead  and  the  other 
dying,  to  the  farm-house  in  which  dwelt  a  sympa- 
thizer, and  where  they  had  found  refreshment  during 
the  night. 

A  few  hours  later— for  he  travelled  the  rest  of  the 
way  very  warily — Graham  reported  to  his  colonel, 
and  found  the  brigade  under  orders  to  move  on  the 
following  morning,  provided  with  ten  days'  rations. 

The  ofificer  was  both  delighted  and  perplexed. 
"  It's  a  hard  case,"  he  said.  "  You  acted  from  the 
noblest  impulses  ;  but  it  was  flat  disobedience  to 
orders." 

"  I  know  it.     I  shall  probably  be  dismissed  from 


346  .  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

the  service.  If  so,  colonel,  I  will  enlist  as  a  private 
in  your  regiment.  Then  you  can  shoot  me  if  I  dis- 
obey again." 

"  Well,  you  are  the  coolest  fellow  that  ever  wore 
the  blue.     Come  with  me  to  headquarters." 

The  fact  of  his  arrival,  and  an  imperfect  story  of 
what  had  occurred,  soon  got  abroad  among  the  men  ; 
and  they  were  wild  in  their  approval,  cheering  him 
with  the  utmost  enthusiasm  as  he  passed  to  the 
brigadier's  tent.  The  general  was  a  genuine  cavalry, 
man  ;  and  was  too  wise  in  his  day  and  generation  to 
alienate  his  whole  brigade  by  any  martinetism.  He 
knew  Graham's  reputation  well,  and  he  was  about 
starting  on  a  dangerous  service.  The  cheers  of  the 
men  crowding  to  his  tent  spoke  volumes.  Hilland's 
regiment  seemed  half  beside  themselves  when  they 
learned  that  Graham  had  found  their  lieutenant- 
colonel  dying  on  the  field,  and  that  he  had  been 
given  an  honorable  burial.  The  general,  therefore, 
gave  Graham  a  most  cordial  welcome  ;  and  said  that 
the  question  was  not  within  his  jurisdiction,  and  that 
he  would  forward  full  particulars  at  once  through 
the  proper  channels  to  the  Secretary  of  War  ;  adding, 
"  We'll  be  on  the  march  before  orders  can  reach 
you.     Meanwhile  take  your  old  command." 

Then  the  story  had  to  be  repeated  in  detail  to  the 
chief  officers  of  the  brigade  ;  and  Graham  told  it  in 
as  few  words  as  possible,  and  they  all  saw  that  his 
grief  was  so  profound  that  the  question  of  his  future 
position  in  the  army  was  scarcely  thought  of.  "I 
am  not  a  sentimental  recruit,"  he  said  in  conclusion. 
"  I  know  the  nature  of  my  offence,  and  will  make  no 


GUERILLAS.  347 

plea  beyond  that  I  believed  that  all  danger  to  our 
command  had  passed,  and  that  it  would  ride  quietly 
into  camp,  as  it  did.  I  also  thought  that  my  supe- 
riors in  giving  the  order  were  more  concerned  for  my 
safety  than  for  anything  else.  What  the  conse- 
quences are  to  myself  personally,  I  don't  care  a 
straw.  There  are  some  misfortunes  which  dwarf  all 
others."  The  conference  broke  up  with  the  most 
hearty  expressions  of  sympathy,  and  the  regret  for 
Hilland's  death  was  both  deep  and  genuine. 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  my  colonel,  with  your  ap- 
proval, General,"  said  Graham.  "  I  would  like  to 
take  a  small  detachment  and  capture  the  owner  of 
the  farm-house  at  which  was  harbored  part  of  the 
guerilla  band  from  which  I  escaped.  I  would  like 
to  make  him  confess  the  names  of  his  associates, 
and  send  word  to  them  that  if  harm  comes  to  any 
who  showed  kindness  or  respect  to  officers  of  our 
brigade,  severe  punishment  will  be  meted  out  on 
every  one  whenever  the  region  is  occupied  by 
Union  forces." 

"  I  order  the  thing  to  be  done  at  once,"  cried  the 
general.  "  Colonel,  give  Major  Graham  as  many 
men  as  he  needs  ;  and,  Graham,  send  word  we'll  hang 
every  mother's  son  of  'em  and  burn  their  ranches,  if 
they  indulge  in  any  more  of  their  devilish  outrages. 
Bring  the  farmer  into  camp,  and  I  will  send  him  to 
Washington  as  a  hostage." 

On  this  occasion  Graham  obeyed  orders  literally. 
The  farmer  and  two  of  the  guerillas  were  captured  ; 
and  when  threatened  with  a  noosed  rope  confessed 
the  names  of  the  others.     A  nearly  grown  son  of  the 


348  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

farmer  was  intrusted  with  the  general's  message  to 
their  associates  ;  and  Graham  added  emphatically 
that  he  intended  to  come  himself  some  day  and  see 
that  it  was  obeyed.  "  Tell  them  to  go  into  the  army 
and  become  straightforward  soldiers  if  they  wish, 
but  if  I  ever  hear  of  another  outrage  I'll  never  rest 
till  the  general's  threat  is  carried  out." 

Graham's  deadly  pistol  shots  and  the  reputation 
he  had  gained  in  the  vicinity  gave  weight  to  his 
words;  and  "The  Band  "  subsided  into  the  most 
humdrum  farmers  of  the  region.  Rita  had  ample 
information  of  his  safety,  for  it  soon  became  known 
that  he  had  killed  two  of  the  most  active  and  daring 
of  the  guerillas  and  captured  three  others  ;  and  she 
worshipped  the  hero  of  her  girlish  fancy  all  the  more 
devoutly. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

JUST  IN   TIME. 

GRAHAM  returned  to  camp  early  in  the  after- 
noon, and  was  again  greeted  with  acclama- 
tions, for  the  events  that  had  occurred  had  become 
better  known.  The  men  soon  saw,  however,  from 
his  sad,  stern  visage  that  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
ovations,  and  that  noisy  approval  of  his  course  was 
very  distasteful.  After  reporting,  he  went  directly  to 
his  tent ;  its  flaps  were  closed,  and  Iss  was  instructed 
to  permit  no  one  to  approach  unless  bearing  orders. 
The  faithful  negro,  overjoyed  at  his  master's  safe 
return,  marched  to  and  fro  like  a  belligerent  watch- 
dog. 

Graham  wrote  the  whole  story  to  his  aunt,  and 
besought  her  to  make  known  to  Grace  with  all  the 
gentleness  and  tact  that  she  possessed  the  awful  cer- 
tainty of  her  husband's  death.  A  telegram  announc- 
ing him  among  the  missing  had  already  been  sent. 
"  Say  to  her,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  that  during 
every  waking  moment  I  am  grieving  for  her  and 
with  her.  O,  I  tremble  at  the  effect  of  her  grief : 
I  dread  its  consequences  beyond  all  words.  You 
know  that  every  power  I  possess  is  wholly  at  her  ser- 


350  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

vice.  Write  me  daily  and  direct  me  what  to  do, — if, 
alas  !  it  is  within  my  power  to  do  anything  in  a  grief 
that  is  without  remedy." 

He  then  explained  that  the  command  was  under 
orders  to  move  the  following  day,  and  that  he  would 
write  again  when  he  could. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  he  saw  some  active 
service,  taking  part  in  several  skirmishes  and  one 
severe  engagement.  In  the  last  it  was  his  fortune 
to  receive  on  the  shoulder  a  sabre-cut  which  prom- 
ised to  be  a  painful  though  not  a  dangerous  wound, 
his  epaulet  having  broken  the  force  of  the  blow. 

On  the  evening  of  the  battle  a  telegram  was  for- 
warded to  him  containing  the  words  : 

"  Have  written  fully.  Come  home  if  you  can  for 
a  short  time.     All  need  you. 

"  Charlotte  Mayburn." 

In  the  rapid  movements  of  his  brigade  his  aunt's 
letters  had  failed  to  reach  him,  and  now  he  esteemed 
his  wound  most  fortunate  since  it  secured  him  a 
leave  of  absence. 

His  journey  home  was  painful  in  every  sense  of 
the  word.  He  was  oppressed  by  the  saddest  of 
memories.  He  both  longed  and  dreaded  unspeak- 
ably to  see  Grace  ;  and  the  lack  of  definite  tidings 
from  her  left  his  mind  a  prey  to  the  dreariest  fore- 
bodings, which  were  enhanced  by  his  aunt's  tele- 
gram. The  physical  pain  from  which  he  was  never 
free  was  almost  welcomed  as  a  diversion  from  his 
distress  of  mind.     He  stopped  in  Washington  only 


JUST  IN   TIME.  351 

long  enough  to  have  his  wound  redressed,  and 
pushed  northward.  A  fatahty  of  delays  irritated 
him  beyond  measure  ;  and  it  was  late  at  night  when 
he  left  the  cars  and  was  driven  to  his  aunt's  resi- 
dence. 

A  yearning  and  uncontrollable  interest  impelled 
him  to  approach  first  the  cottage  which  contained 
the  woman,  dearer  to  him  than  all  the  world,  who 
had  been  so  strangely  committed  to  his  care.  To 
his  surprise  there  was  a  faint  light  in  the  library  ; 
and  Hilland's  ill-omened  dream  flashed  across  his 
mind.  With  a  prophetic  dread  at  heart,  he  step- 
ped lightly  up  the  piazza  to  a  window.  As  he 
turned  the  blinds  he  witnessed  a  scene  that  so 
smote  his  heart  that  he  had  to  lean  against  the 
house  for  support.  Before  him  was  the  reality  of 
poor  Hilland's  vision. 

On  the  rug  before  the  flickering  fire  the  stricken 
wife  crouched,  wringing  her  hands,  which  looked 
ghostly  in  their  whiteness.  A  candle  burning  dimly 
on  a  table  increased  the  light  of  the  fire  ;  and  by  their 
united  rays  he  saw,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  that  her 
loosened  hair,  which  covered  her  bowed  face  and 
shoulders,  was,  in  truth,  silver  white  ;  and  its  con- 
trast with  her  black  wrapper  made  the  whole  scene, 
linked  as  it  was  with  a  dead  man's  dream,  so  ghostly 
that  he  shuddered,  and  was  inclined  to  believe  it 
to  be  the  creation  of  his  overwrought  senses.  In 
self-distrust  he  looked  around.  Other  objects  were 
clear  in  the  faint  moonlight.  He  was  perfectly  con- 
scious of  the  dull  ache  of  his  wound.  Had  the 
phantom  crouching  before  the  fire  vanished  ?     No  ; 


352  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS, 

but  now  the  silver  hair  was  thrown  back,  and  Grace 
Hilland's  white,  agonized  face  was  lifted  heaven- 
ward.    O,  how  white  it  was  ! 

She  slowly  took  a  dark-colored  vial  from  her 
bosom. 

Thrilled  with  unspeakable  horror,  "  Grace  !"  he 
shouted,  and  by  a  desperate  effort  threw  the  blind 
upward  and  off  from  its  hinges,  and  it  fell  with  a 
crash  on  the  veranda.  Springing  into  the  apart- 
ment, he  had  not  reached  her  side  before  the  door 
opened,  and  his  aunt's  frightened  face  appeared. 

"  Great  God  !  what  does  this  mean,  Alford  ?" 

"  What  does  it  mean,  indeed  !"  he  echoed  in 
agonized  tones,  as  he  knelt  beside  Grace,  who  had 
fallen  on  the  floor  utterly  unconscious.  "  Bring  the 
candle  here,"  he  added  hoarsely. 

She  mechanically  obeyed  and  seemed  almost  para- 
lyzed. After  a  moment's  search  he  snatched  up 
something  and  cried,  "  She's  safe,  she's  safe  !  The 
cork  is  not  removed."  Then  he  thrust  the  vial 
into  his  pocket,  and  lifted  Grace  gently  on  the  lounge, 
saying  meanwhile,  "  She  has  only  fainted  ;  surely  'tis 
no  more.  O,  as  you  value  my  life  and  hers,  act. 
You  should  know  what  to  do.  I  will  send  the 
coachman  for  a  physician  instantly,  and  will  come 
when  you  need  me." 

Rushing  to  the  man's  room,  he  dragged  him  from 
his  bed,  shook  him  awake,  and  gave  him  instructions 
and  offers  of  reward  that  stirred  the  fellow's  blood 
as  it  had  never  been  stirred  before  ;  and  yet  when 
he  reached  the  stable  he  found  that  Graham  had 
broken  the  lock  and  had  a  horse  saddled  and  ready. 


JUST  IN  TIME.  35^ 

"  Now  ride, "  he  was  commanded,  "  as  if  the  devil 
you  beheve  in  was  after  you." 

Then  Graham  rushed  back  into  the  house,  for  he 
was  almost  beside  himself.  But  when  he  heard  the 
poor  old  major  caHing  piteously,  and  asking  what 
was  the  matter,  he  was  taught  his  need  of  self-con- 
trol. Gomgup  to  the  veteran's  room,  he  soothed 
him  by  saying  that  he  had  returned  late  in  the  night 
in  response  to  his  aunt's  telegram,  and  that  he  had 
found  Grace  fainting  on  the  floor,  that  Mrs.  May> 
burn  and  the  servants  were,  with  her,  and  that  a 
pnysician  had  been  sent  for. 

^''O,  Graham,   Graham,"   moaned    the   old    man 
1  fear  my  peerless  girl  is  losing  her  mind,  she  has 
acted  so  strangely  of  late.     It's  time  you  came.     It's 
time^  something  was  done,  or  the  worst  may  hap- 

With  an  almost  overwhelming  sense  of  horror 
Graham  remembered  how  nearly  the  worst  had  hap- 
pened  but  he  only  said,  "  Let  us  hope  the  worst  has 
passed  I  will  bring  you  word  from  Mrs.  Mayburn 
from  time  to  time." 

His  terrible  anxiety  was  only  partially  relieved,  for 

his  aunt  said  that  Grace's  swoon  was  obstinate,  and 

would  not  yield    to  the  remedies   she  was   using. 

Come  in,     she  cried.      "  This  is  no  time  for  cere- 

mony.     Take  brandy  and  chafe  her  wrists  " 

What  a  mortal  chill  her  cold  hands  gave  him  '     It 
was  worse  than  when  Hilland's  hands  were  cold  in 

Ills. 

"O  aunt,  she  will  live?" 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  brusque  reply.      "  A  faint- 


354  ^^^   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

ing  turn  Is  nothing.  Come,  you  are  cool  in  a 
battle  :  be  cool  now.  It  won't  do  for  us  all  to  lose 
our  wits,  although  Heaven  knows  there's  cause 
enough." 

"  How  white  her  face  and  neck  are  !" — for  Mrs. 
Mayburn  had  opened  her  wrapper  at  the  throat,  that 
she  might  breathe  more  easily, — "just  as  Hilland 
saw  her  in  his  dream." 

"  Have  done  with  your  dreams,  and  omens,  and 
all  your  weird  nonsense.  It's  time  for  a  little  more 
common  sense.  Rub  her  wrists  gently  but  strongly  ; 
and  if  she  shows  signs  of  consciousness,  disappear." 

At  last  she  said  hastily,  "  Go." 

Listening  at  the  door,  he  heard  Grace  ask,  a  few 
moments  later,  in  a  faint  voice,  "  What  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  You  only  fainted,  deary." 

"  Why — why — I'm  in  the  library." 

"  Yes,  you  got  up  in  your  sleep,  and  I  followed 
you  ;  and  the  doctor  will  soon  be  here,  although  little 
need  we  have  of  him." 

"  O,  I've  had  a  fearful  dream.  I  thought  I  saw 
Warren  or  Alford.     I  surely  heard  Alford's  voice." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I've  no  doubt  you  had  a  bad  dream  ; 
and  it  may  be  that  Alford's  voice  caused  it,  for  he 
arrived  late  last  night  and  has  been  talking  with 
your  father." 

"  That  must  be  it,"  she  sighed  ;  "  but  my  head  is 
so  confused.  O,  I  am  so  glad  he's  come  !  When 
can  I  see  him  ?" 

"  Not  till  after  the  doctor  comes  and  you  are  much 
stronger. 


JUST  IN  TIME.  355 

"  I  wish  to  thank  him;  I  can't  wait  to  thank 
him." 

"  He  doesn't  want  thanks,  deary  ;  he  wants  you 
to  get  well.  You  owe  it  to  him  and  your  father  to 
get  well, — as  well  as  your  great  and  lifelong  sorrow 
permits.  Now,  deary,  take  a  little  more  stimulant, 
and  then  don't  talk.  I've  explained  everything,  and 
shown  you  your  duty  ;  and  I  know  that  my  brave 
Grace  will  do  it." 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said,  with  a  pathetic  weariness  in 
her  voice  that  brought  a  rush  of  tears  to  Graham's 
eyes. 

Returning  to  Major  St.  John,  he  assured  him  that 
Grace  had  revived,  and  that  he  believed  she  would 
be  herself  hereafter. 

"  O  this  cursed  war  !"  groaned  the  old  man  ;  "  and 
how  I  have  exulted  in  it  and  Warren's  career  !  I  had 
a  blind  confidence  that  he  would  come  out  of  it  a 
veteran  general  while  yet  little  more  than  a  boy. 
My  ambition  has  been  punished,  punished  ;  and  I 
may  lose  both  the  children  of  whom  I  was  so  proud. 
O  Graham,  the  whole  world  is  turning  as  black  as 
Grace's  mourning  robes." 

"  I  have  felt  that  way  myself.  But,  Major,  as 
soldiers  we  must  face  this  thing  like  men.  The 
doctor  has  come  ;  and  I  will  bring  him  here  before 
he  goes,  to  give  his  report." 

"  Well,  Graham,  a  father's  blessing  on  you  for 
going  back  for  Warren.  If  Grace  had  been  left  in 
suspense  as  to  his  fate  she  would  have  gone  mad  in 
very  truth.     God  only  knows  how  it  will  be  now  ; 


356  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

but  she  has  a  better  chance  in  meeting  and  over- 
coming the  sharp  agony  of  certainty." 

Under  the  physician's  remedies  Grace  rallied  more 
rapidly  ;  and  he  said  that  if  carried  to  her  room  she 
would  soon  sleep  quietly. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Graham  first,"  she  said,  de- 
cisively. 

To  Mrs.  Mayburn's  questioning  glance,  he  added, 
"  Gratify  her.     I  have  quieting  remedies  at  hand." 

"  He  will  prove  more  quieting  than  all  remedies. 
He  saved  my  husband's  life  once,  and  tried  to  do  so 
again  ;  and  I  wish  to  tell  him  I  never  forget  it  night 
or  day.  He  is  brave,  and  strong,  and  quiet  ;  and  I 
feel  that  to  take  his  hand  will  quiet  the  fever  in  my 
brain." 

"  Grace,  I  am  here,"  he  said,  pushing  open  the 
door  and  bending  his  knee  at  her  side  while  taking 
her  hand.  "  Waste  no  strength  in  thanks.  School 
your  broken  heart  into  patience  ;  and  remember  how 
dear,  beyond  all  words,  your  life  is  to  others.  Your 
father's  life  depends  on  yours." 

"  I'll  try,"  she  again  said  ;  "  I  think  I  feel  better, 
differently.  An  oppression  that  seemed  stifling, 
crushing  me,  is  passing  away.  Alford,  was  there  no 
chance — no  chance  at  all  of  saving  him  ?" 

"  Alas  !  no  ;  and  yet  it  is  all  so  much  better  than 
it  might  have  been  !  His  grave  is  in  a  quiet,  beauti- 
ful spot,  which  you  can  visit;  and  fresh  flowers  are 
placed  upon  it  every  day.  Dear  Grace,  compare 
your  lot  with  that  of  so  many  others  whose  loved 
ones  are  left  on  the  field." 

"  As  he  would  have  been  were  it  not  for  you,  my 


JUST  IN   TIME.  357 

true,  true  friend,"  and  she  carried  his  hand  to  her 
lips  in  passionate  gratitude.  Then  tears  gushed 
from  her  eyes,  and  she  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"Thank  the  good  God  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  May- 
burn.  "  These  are  the  first  tears  she  has  shed.  She 
will  be  better  now.  Come,  deary,  you  have  seen 
Alford.  He  is  to  stop  with  us  a  long  time,  and  will 
tell  you  everything  over  and  over.  You  must  sleep 
now." 

Graham  kissed  her  hand  and  left  the  room,  and  the 
servants  carried  her  to  her  apartment.  Mrs.  May- 
burn  and  the  physician  soon  joined  him  in  the 
library,  which  was  haunted  by  a  memory  that  would 
shake  his  soul  to  his  dying  day. 

The  physician  in  a  cheerful  mood  said,  "  I  now 
predict  a  decided  change  for  the  better.  It  would 
almost  seem  that  she  had  had  some  shock  which  has 
broken  the  evil  spell ;  and  this  natural  flow  of  tears 
is  better  than  all  the  medicine  in  the  world  ;"  and 
then  he  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  explained  how  Grace's 
manner  had  been  growing  so  strange  and  unnatural 
that  they  feared  her  mind  was  giving  way. 

"  I  fear  you  were  right,"  Graham  replied  sadly; 
and  he  told  them  of  the  scene  he  had  witnessed,  and 
produced  the  vial  of  laudanum. 

The  physician  was  much  shocked,  but  Mrs.  May- 
burn  had  already  guessed  the  truth  from  her  nephew's 
words  and  manner  when  she  first  discovered  him. 

"  Neither  Grace  nor  her  father  must  ever  know  of 
this,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  Dr.  Markham  should  know. 
As  her  physician,  he  should  know  the  whole  truth." 


358  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  I  think  that  phase  of  her  trouble  has  passed," 
said  the  doctor,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but,  as  you  say,  I 
must  be  on  my  guard.  Pardon  me,  you  do  not 
look  well  yourself.  Indeed,  you  look  faint  ;"  for 
Graham  had  sunk  into  a  chair. 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  losing  considerable  blood," 
said  Graham,  carelessly  ;  *'  and  now  that  this  strong 
excitement  is  passing,  it  begins  to  tell.  I  owe  my 
leave  of  absence  to  a  wound." 

"  A,  wound  !"  cried  his  aunt,  coming  to  his  side. 
"  Why  did  you  not  speak  of  it  ?" 

"  Indeed,  there  has  been  enough  to  speak  of  be- 
yond this  trifle.  Take  a  look  at  my  shoulder,  doc- 
tor, and  do  what  you  think  best." 

"And  here  is  enough  to  do,"  was  his  reply  as 
soon  as  Graham's  shoulder  was  bared  :  "an  ugly 
cut,  and  all  broken  loose  by  your  exertions  this 
evening.  You  must  keep  very  quiet  and  have  good 
care,  or  this  reopened  wound  will  make  you  serious 
trouble." 

"  Well,  doctor,  we  have  so  much  serious  trouble 
on  hand  that  a  little  more  won't  matter  much." 

His  aunt  inspected  the  wound  with  grim  satisfac- 
tion, and  then  said,  sententiously,  "I'm  glad  you 
have  got  it  Alford,  for  it  will  keep  you  home  and 
divert  Grace's  thoughts.  In  these  times  a  wound 
that  leaves  the  heart  untouched  may  be  useful  ;  and 
nothing  cures  a  woman's  trouble  better  than  having 
to  take  up  the  troubles  of  others.  I  predict  a  deal 
of  healing  for  Grace  in  your  wound." 

"  All  which  goes  to  prove,"  added  the  busy  phy- 


JUST  IN  TIME,  359 

sician,    "that   woman's    nature   is    different    from 
man's." 

When  he  was  gone,  having  first  assured  the 
major  over  and  over  again  that  all  danger  was  past, 
Graham  said,  "  Aunt,  Grace's  hair  is  as  white  as 
yours." 

"Yes;  it  turned  white  within  a  week  after  she 
learned  the  certainty  of  her  husband's  death." 

"Would  that  I  could  have  died  in  Hilland's 
place  !" 

"Yes, "said  the  old  lady  bitterly;  "you  were 
always  too  ready  to  die." 

He  drew  her  down  to  him  as  he  lay  on  the  lounge, 
and  kissed  her  tenderly,  as  he  said,  "  But  I  have 
kept  my  promise  *  to  live  and  do  my  best.'  " 

You  have  kept  your  promise  to  live  after  a 
fashion.  My  words  have  also  proved  true,  '  Good 
has  come  of  it,  and  more  good  will  come  of  it.'  " 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

A    WOUNDED     SPIRIT. 

GRACE'S  chief  symptom  when  she  awoke  on  the 
following  morning  was  an  extreme  lassitude. 
She  was  almost  as  weak  as  a  violent  fever  would 
have  left  her,  but  her  former  unnatural  and  fitful 
manner  was  gone.  Mrs.  Mayburn  told  Graham  that 
she  had  had  long  moods  of  deep  abstraction,  during 
which  her  eyes  would  be  fixed  on  vacancy,  with  a 
stare  terrible  to  witness,  and  then  would  follow 
uncontrollable  paroxysms  of  grief. 

"  This  morning,"  said  her  anxious  nurse,  "  she  is 
more  like  a  broken  lily  that  has  not  strength  to  raise 
its  head.  But  the  weakness  will  pass  ;  she'll  rally. 
Not  many  die  of  grief,  especially  when  young. 

"  Save  her  life,  aunty,  and  I  can  still  do  a  man's 
part  in  the  world." 

"  Well,  Alford,  you  must  help  me.  She  has  been 
committed  to  your  care  ;  and  it's  a  sacred  trust." 

Graham  was  now  installed  in  his  old  quarters,  and 
placed  under  Aunt  Sheba's  care.  His  energetic 
aunt,  however,  promised  to  look  in  upon  him  often, 
and  kept  her  word.  The  doctor  predicted  a  tedious 
time  with  his  wound,  and  insisted  on  absolute  quiet 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT.  36 1 

for  a  few  days.  He  was  mistaken,  however.  Time 
would  not  be  tedious,  with  frequent  tidings  of 
Grace's  convalescence  and  her  many  proofs  of  deep 
solicitude  about  his  wound. 

Grace  did  rally  faster  than  had  been  expected. 
Her  system  had  received  a  terrible  shock,  but  it 
had  not  been  enfeebled  by  disease.  With  returning 
strength  came  an  insatiate  craving  for  action, — an 
almost  desperate  effort  to  occupy  her  hands  and 
mind.  Before  it  was  prudent  for  Graham  to  go  out 
or  exert  himself — for  his  wound  had  developed  some 
bad  symptoms — she  came  to  see  him,  bringing  deli- 
cacies made  with  her  own  hands. 

Never  had  her  appearance  so  appealed  to  his 
heart.  Her  face  had  grown  thin,  but  its  lovely  out- 
lines remained  ;  and  her  dark  eyes  seemed  tenfold 
more  lustrous  in  contrast  with  her  white  hair.  She 
had  now  a  presence  that  the  most  stolid  would  turn 
and  look  after  with  a  wondering  pity  and  admira- 
tion, while  those  gifted  with  a  fine  perception  could 
scarcely  see  her  without  tears.  Graham  often 
thought  that  if  she  could  be  turned  into  marble  she 
would  make  the  ideal  statue  representing  the  women 
of  both  the  contending  sections  whose  hearts  the 
war  had  broken. 

As  she  came  and  went,  and  as  he  eventually  spent 
long  hours  with  her  and  her  father,  she  became  to 
him  a  study  of  absorbing  interest,  in  which  his  old 
analytical  bent  was  not  wholly  wanting.  "  What," 
he  asked  himself  every  hour  in  the  day,  "  will  be 
the  effect  of  an  experience  like  this  on  such  a 
woman?    what   the    final    outcome?"      There   was 


362  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

in  this  interest  no  curiosity,  in  the  vulgar  sense!  of  the 
word.  It  was  rather  the  almost  sleepless  suspense 
of  a  man  who  has  everything  at  stake,  and  who,  in 
watching  the  struggle  of  another  mind  to  cope  with 
misfortune,  must  learn  at  the  same  time  his  own 
fate.  It  was  far  more  than  this, — it  was  the  vigi- 
lance of  one  who  would  offer  help  at  all  times  and 
at  any  cost.  Still,  so  strong  are  natural  or  acquired 
characteristics  that  he  could  not  do  this  without 
manifesting  some  of  the  traits  of  the  Alford  Graham 
who  years  before  had  studied  the  mirthful  Grace  St. 
John  with  the  hope  of  analyzing  her  power  and 
influence.  And  had  he  been  wholly  indifferent  to 
her,  and  as  philosophical  and  cynical  as  once  it  was 
his  pride  to  think  he  was,  she  would  still  have  re- 
mained an  absorbing  study.  Her  sudden  and  awful 
bereavement  had  struck  her  strong  and  excep- 
tional spiritual  nature  with  the  shattering  force  of 
the  ball  that  crashes  through  muscle,  bone,  and 
nerves.  In  the  latter  case  the  wound  may  be  mor- 
tal, or  it  may  cause  weakness  and  deformity.  The 
wounded  spirit  must  survive,  although  the  effects  of 
the  wound  may  be  even  more  serious  and  far-reach- 
ing— changing,  developing,  or  warping  character  to 
a  degree  that  even  the  most  experienced  cannot  pre- 
dict. Next  to  God,  time  is  the  great  healer  ;  and 
human  love,  guided  by  tact,  can  often  achieve  signal 
success. 

But  for  Graham  there  was  no  God  ;  and  it  must  be 
said  that  this  was  becoming  true  of  Grace  also.  As 
Hilland  had  feared,  the  influence  of  those  she  loved 
and  trusted  most  had  gradually  sapped   her  faith. 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT.  363 

which  in  her  case  had  been  more  a  cherished  tradi- 
tion, received  from  her  mother,  than  a  vital  ex- 
perience. 

Hilland's  longings  for  a  Hfe  hereafter,  and  his 
words  of  regret  that  she  had  lost  the  faith  of  her 
girlhood,  were  neutralized  by  the  bitter  revolt  of  her 
spirit  against  her  immeasurable  misfortune.  Her 
own  experience  was  to  her  a  type  of  all  the  desolating 
evil  and  sorrow  of  the  world  ;  and  in  her  agony  she 
could  not  turn  to  a  God  who  permitted  such  evil  and 
suffering.  It  seemed  to  her  that  there  could  be  no 
merciful,  overruling  Providence, — that  her  husband's 
view,  when  his  mind  was  in  its  most  vigorous  and 
normal  state,  was  more  rational  than  a  religion  which 
taught  that  a  God  who  loved  good  left  evil  to  make 
such  general  havoc. 

"  It's  the  same  blind  contention  of  forces  in  men 
as  in  nature,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  "  and  only  the 
strong  or  the  fortunate  survive." 

One  day  she  asked  Graham  abruptly,  "  Do  you 
believe  that  the  human  spirit  lives  on  after  death  ?" 

He  was  sorely  troubled  to  know  how  to  answer 
her,  but  after  a  little  hesitation  said,  "  I  feel,  as 
your  husband  did,  that  I  should  be  glad  if  you  had 
the  faith  of  your  girlhood.  I  think  it  would  be  a 
comfort  to  you." 

"  That's  truly  a  continental  view  :  superstition  is 
useful  to  women.  Will  you  not  honestly  treat  me 
as  your  equal,  and  tell  me  what  you,  as  an  educated 
man,  believe  ?" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  gravely  and  sadly,  "  I  will  only 
recall  with  emphasis  your  husband's  last  words." 


364  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"You  are  loyal  to  him,  at  least ;  and  I  respect 
you  for  it.  But  I  know  what  you  believe,  and  what 
Warren  believed  when  his  faculties  were  normal  and 
unbiassed  by  the  intense  longing  of  his  heart.  I  am 
only  a  woman,  Alford,  but  I  must  use  such  little 
reason  as  I  have  ;  and  no  being  except  one  created 
by  man's  ruthless  imagination  could  permit  the  suf- 
fering which  this  war  daily  entails.  It's  all  of  the 
earth,  earthy.  Alford, "she  added,  in  low,  passion- 
ate utterance,  "  I  could  believe  in  a  devil  more 
easily  than  in  a  God  ;  and  yet  my  unbelief  sinks  me 
into  the  very  depths  of  a  hopeless  desolation.  What 
am  I  ?  A  mere  little  atom  among  these  mighty 
forces  and  passions  which  rock  the  world  with  their 
violence.  O,  I  was  so  happy  !  and  now  I  am  crushed 
by  some  hap-hazard  bullet  shot  in  the  darkness." 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  and  was  silent. 

"  Alford,"  she  continued,  her  eyes  glowing  in  the 
excitement  of  her  strong,  passionate  spirit,  "  I  will 
not  succumb  to  all  this  monstrous  evil.  If  I  am 
but  a  transient  emanation  of  the  earth,  and  must 
soon  return  to  my  kindred  dust,  still  I  can  do  a  little 
to  diminish  the  awful  aggregate  of  suffering.  My 
nature,  earth-born  as  it  is,  revolts  at  a  selfish  indif- 
ference to  it  all.  O,  if  there  is  a  God,  why  does  He 
not  rend  the  heavens  in  His  haste  to  stay  the  black 
torrents  of  evil  ?  Why  does  He  not  send  the  angels 
of  whom  my  mother  told  me  when  a  child,  and  bid 
them  stand  between  the  armies  that  are  desolating 
thousands  of  hearts  like  mine  ?  Or  if  He  chooses  to 
work  by  silent,  gentle  influences  like  those  of  spring, 
why  does  He  not  bring  human  hearts  together  that  are 


A    WOUNDED   SPIRIT.  365 

akin,  and  enhance  the  content  and  happiness  which 
our  brief  life  permits  ?  But  no.  Unhappy  mis- 
takes are  made.  Alas,  my  friend,  we  both  know  it 
to  our  sorrow  !  Why  should  I  feign  ignorance  of 
that  which  your  unbounded  and  unselfish  devotion 
has  proved  so  often.  Why  should  you  not  know 
that  before  this  deadly  stroke  fell  my  one  grief  was 
that  you  suffered  ;  and  that  as  long  as  I  could  pray  I 
prayed  for  your  happiness  ?  Now  I  can  see  only 
merciless  force  or  blind  chance,  that  in  nature  smites 
with  the  tornado  the  lonely  forest  or  the  thriving 
village,  the  desolate  waves  or  some  ship  upon  them. 
Men,  with  all  their  boasted  reason,  are  even  worse. 
What  could  be  more  mad  and  useless  than  this  war  ? 
Alford,  I  alone  have  suffered  enough  to  make  the 
thing  accursed  ;  and  I  must  suffer  to  the  end  :  and  I 
am  only  one  of  countless  women.  What  is  there  for 
me,  what  for  them,  but  to  grow  lonelier  and  sadder 
every  day?  But  I  won't  submit  to  the  evil.  I 
won't  be  a  mere  bit  of  helpless  drift.  While  I  live 
there  shall  be  a  little  less  suffering  in  the  world.  Ah, 
Alford  !  you  see  how  far  removed  I  am  from  the 
sportive  girl  you  saw  on  that  May  evening  years  ago. 
I  am  an  old,  white-haired,  broken-hearted  woman  ; 
and  yet,"  with  a  grand  look  in  her  eyes,  she  con- 
cluded, "  I  have  spirit  enough  left  to  take  up  arms 
against  all  the  evil  and  suffering  within  my  reach. 
I  know  how  puny  my  efforts  will  be  ;  but  I  would 
rather  try  to  push  back  an  avalanche  than  cower 
before  it." 

Thus  she  revealed  to  him  the  workings  of  her  mind  ; 
and  he  worshipped  her  anew  as  one  of  the  gentlest 


366  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

and  most  loving  of  women,  and  yet  possessed  of  a 
nature  so  strong  that  under  the  guidance  of  reason  it 
could  throw  off  the  shackles  of  superstition  and  defy- 
even  fate.  Under  the  spell  of  her  words  the  evil  of 
the  world  did  seem  an  avalanche,  not  of  snow,  but 
of  black  molten  lava  ;  while  she,  too  brave  and  noble 
to  cower  and  cringe,  stood  before  it,  her  little  hand 
outstretched  to  stay  its  deadly  onset. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

THE  WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE. 

LIFE  at  the  two  cottages  was  extremely  secluded. 
All  who  felt  entitled  to  do  so  made  calls, 
partly  of  condolence  and  partly  from  curiosity.  The 
occupants  of  the  two  unpretending  dwellings  had 
the  respect  of  the  community  ;  but  from  their  rather 
unsocial  ways  could  not  be  popular.  The  old  major 
had  ever  detested  society  in  one  of  its  phases, — that 
is,  the  claims  of  mere  vicinage,  the  duty  to  call  and 
be  called  upon  by  people  who  live  near,  when  there 
is  scarcely  a  thought  or  taste  in  common.  With  his 
Southern  and  army  associations  he  had  drifted  to  a 
New  England  city  ;  but  he  ignored  the  city  except 
as  it  furnished  friends  and  things  that  pleased  him. 
His  attitude  was  not  contemptuous  or  unneighborly, 
but  simply  indifferent. 

"  I  don't  thrust  my  life  on  any  one,"  he  once  said 
to  Mrs.  Mayburn,  "  except  you  and  Grace.  Why 
should  other  people  thrust  their  lives  on  me  ?" 

His  limited  income  had  required  economy,  and  his 
infirmities  a  life  free  from  annoyance.  As  has  been 
shown,  Grace  had  practised  the  one  with  heart  as 
light   as  her  purse  ;  and   had   interposed  her   own 


368  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

sweet  self  between  the  irritable  veteran  and  every- 
thing that  could  vex  him.  The  calling  world  had 
had  its  revenge.  The  major  was  profane  they  had 
said  ;  Grace  was  proud,  or  led  a  slavish  life.  The  most 
heinous  sin  of  all  was,  they  were  poor.  There  were 
several  families,  however,  whom  Grace  and  the 
major  had  found  congenial,  with  various  shades  of 
difference  ;  and  the  young  girl  had  never  lacked  all 
the  society  she  cared  for.  Books  had  been  her  chief 
pleasure  ;  the  acquaintance  of  good  whist-players 
had  been  cultivated  ;  army  and  Southern  friends 
had  appeared  occasionally  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Mayburn 
had  become  a  neighbor,  she  had  been  speedily 
adopted  into  the  closest  intimacy.  When  Hilland 
had  risen  above  their  horizon  he  soon  glorified  the 
world  to  Grace.  To  the  astonishment  of  society,  she 
had  married  a  millionnaire,  and  they  had  all  con- 
tinued to  live  as  quietly  and  unostentatiously  as  be- 
fore. There  had  been  another  slight  effort  to  "  know 
the  people  at  the  St.  John  cottage,"  but  it  had 
speedily  died  out.  The  war  had  brought  chiefly 
military  associations  and  absence.  Now  again  there 
was  an  influx  of  callers,  largely  from  the  church 
that  Grace  had  once  attended.  Mrs.  Mayburn  re- 
ceived the  majority  with  a  grim  politeness,  but 
discriminated  very  favorably  in  case  of  those  who 
came  solely  from  honest  sympathy.  All  were  made 
to  feel,  however,  that,  like  a  mourning  veil,  sorrow 
should  shield  its  victims  from  uninvited  observation. 
Hilland's  mother  had  long  been  dead,  and  his 
father  died  at  the  time  when  he  was  summoned  from 
his  studies  in  Germany.     While  on  good  terms  with 


THE   WHITE-HAIRED   NURSE.  369 

his  surviving  relatives,  there  had  been  no  very  close 
relationship  or  intimacy  remaining.  Grace  had 
declared  that  she  v/ished  no  other  funeral  service 
than  the  one  conducted  by  the  good  old  Confeder- 
ate pastor ;  and  the  relatives,  learning  that  they  had 
no  interest  in  the  will,  speedily  discovered  that  they 
had  no  further  interest  whatever.  Thus  the  inmates 
of  the  two  cottages  were  left  to  pursue  their  own 
shadowed  paths,  with  little  interference  from  the 
outside  world.  The  major  treasured  a  few  cordial 
eulogies  of  Hilland  cut  from  the  journals  at  the 
time  ;  and  except  in  the  hearts  wherein  he  was  en- 
shrined a  living  image,  the  brave,  genial,  high-souled 
man  passed  from  men's  thoughts  and  memories, 
like  thousands  of  others  in  that  long  harvest  of 
death. 

Graham's  wound  at  last  was  well-nigh  healed,  and 
the  time  was  drav/ing  near  for  his  return  to  the 
army.  His  general  had  given  such  a  very  favor- 
able account  of  the  circumstances  attending  his 
offence,  and  of  his  career  as  a  soldier  both  before 
and  after  the  affair,  that  the  matter  was  quietly 
ignored.  Moreover,  Hilland,  as  a  soldier  and  by 
reason  of  the  loyal  use  of  his  wealth,  stood  very 
high  in  the  estimation  of  the  war  authorities  ;  and 
the  veteran  major  was  not  without  his  surviving 
circle  of  influential  friends.  Graham,  therefore,  not 
only  retained  his  rank,  but  was  marked  for  pro- 
motion. 

Of  all  this,  however,  he  thought  and  cared  little. 
If  he  had  loved  Grace  before,  he  idolized  her  now. 
And  yet  with  all  her  deep  affection  for  him,  and  her 


370  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

absolute  trust,  she  seemed  more  remote  than  ever. 
In  the  new  phase  of  her  grief  she  was  ever  seeking  to 
do  little  things  which  she  thought  would  please  him. 
But  this  was  also  true  of  her  course  toward  Mrs. 
Mayburh,  especially  so  toward  her  father,  and  also, 
to  a  certain  extent,  toward  the  poor  and  sick  in  the 
vicinity.  Her  one  effort  seemed  to  be  to  escape 
from  her  thoughts,  herself,  in  a  ceaseless  ministry  to 
others.  And  the  effort  sometimes  degenerated  into 
restlessness.  There  was  such  a  lack  of  repose  in 
her  manner  that  even  those  who  loved  her  most 
were  pained  and  troubled.  There  was  not  enough 
to  keep  her  busy  all  the  time,  and  yet  she  was  ever 
impelled  to  do  something. 

One  day  she  said  to  Graham,  "  I  wish  I  could  go 
back  with  you  to  the  war  ;  not  that  I  wish  to  shed 
another  drop  of  blood,  but  I  would  like  to  march, 
march  forever." 

Shrewd  Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  had  been  watching 
Grace  closely  for  the  last  week  or  two,  said  quietly, 
"Take  her  back  with  you,  Alford.  Let  her  be- 
come a  nurse  in  some  hospital.  It  will  do  both  her 
and  a  lot  of  poor  fellows  a  world  of  good." 

"  Mrs.  Mayburn,  you  have  thought  of  just  the 
thing,"  cried  Grace.  "  In  a  hospital  full  of  sick 
and  wounded  men  I  could  make  my  life  amount  to 
something  ;  I  should  never  need  to  be  idle  then." 

"Yes,  you  would.  You  would  be  under  orders 
like  Alford,  and  would  have  to  rest  when  off  duty. 
But,  as  you  say,  you  could  be  of  great  service,  in- 
stead of  wasting  your  energy  in  coddling  two  old 
people.    You  might  save  many  a  poor  fellow's  life." 


THE  WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE.  371 

"  O,"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands,  "the 
bare  thought  of  saving  one  poor  woman  from  such 
suffering  as  mine  is  almost  overwhelming.  But  how 
can  I  leave  papa  ?" 

"  I'll  take  care  of  the  major  and  insure  his  con- 
sent. If  men  are  so  possessed  to  make  wounds,  it's 
time  women  did  more  to  cure  them.  It's  all  set- 
tled :  you  are  to  go.  I'll  see  the  major  about  it  now, 
if  he  has  \\xs\.  begun  his  newspaper;"  and  the  old 
lady  took  her  knitting  and  departed  with  her  wonted 
prompt  energy. 

At  first  Graham  was  almost  speechless  from  sur- 
prise, mingled  doubt  and  pleasure;  but  the  more  he 
thought  of  it,  the  more  he  was  convinced  that  the 
plan  was  an  inspiration. 

"  Alford,  you  will  take  me?"  she  said,  appeal- 
ingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  smilingly,  "  if  you  will  promise 
to  obey  my  orders  in  part,  as  well  as  those  of  your 
superiors." 

"  I'll  promise  anything  if  you  will  only  take  me. 
Am  I  not  under  your  care  ?" 

"  O  Grace,  Grace,  I  can  do  so  little  for  you  !" 

"  No  one  living  can  do  more.  In  providing  this 
chance  of  relieving  a  little  pain,  of  preventing  a  lit- 
tle suffering,  you  help  me,  you  serve  me,  you  com- 
fort me,  as  no  one  else  could.  And,  Alford,  if  you 
are  wounded,  come  to  the  hospital  where  I  am  ;  I  will 
never  leave  you  till  you  are  well.  Take  me  to  some 
exposed  place  in  the  field,  where  there  is  danger, 
where  men  are  brought  in  desperately  wounded, 
where  you  would  be  apt  to  be." 


372  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  shall  be,  but  I  would 
covet  any  wound  that  would  bring  you  to  my  side 
as  nurse." 

She  thought  a  few  moments,  and  then  said  reso- 
lutely, "  I  will  keep  as  near  to  you  as  I  can.  I  ask  no 
pay  for  my  services.  On  the  contrary,  I  will  employ 
my  useless  wealth  in  providing  for  exposed  hospi- 
tals. When  I  attempt  to  take  care  of  the  sick  or 
wounded,  I  will  act  scrupulously  under  the  orders  of 
the  surgeon  in  charge  ;  but  I  do  not  see  why,  if  I 
pay  my  own  way,  I  cannot  come  and  go  as  I  think  I 
can  be  the  most  useful." 

"  Perhaps  you  could,  to  a  certain  extent,  if  you 
had  a  permit,"  said  Graham,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but  I 
think  you  would  accomplish  more  by  remaining  in 
one  hospital  and  acquiring  skill  by  regular  work. 
It  would  be  a  source  of  indescribable  anxiety  to  me 
to  think  of  your  going  about  alone.  If  I  know  just 
where  you  are,  I  can  find  you  and  write  <to  you." 

"  I  will  do  just  what  you  wish,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  I  wish  for  only  what  is  best  for  you." 

"  I  know  that.     It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not." 

Mrs.  Mayburn  was  not  long  in  convincing  the 
major  that  her  plan  might  be  the  means  of  incalcu- 
lable benefit  to  Grace  as  well  as  to  others.  He,  as 
well  as  herself  and  Graham,  had  seen  with  deep  anx- 
iety that  Grace  was  giving  way  to  a  fever  of  unrest ; 
and  he  acquiesced  in  the  view  that  it  might  better 
run  its  course  in  wholesome  and  useful  activity,  amid 
scenes  of  suffering  that  might  tend  to  reconcile  her 
to  her  ov/n  sorrow. 

Graham,   however,  took  the  precaution  of  calling 


THE   WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE.  373 

on  Dr.  Markham,  who,  to  his  relief,  heartily  ap- 
proved of  the  measure.  On  one  point  Graham  was 
firm.  He  would  not  permit  her  to  go  to  a  hospital 
in  the  field,  liable  to  vicissitudes  from  sudden  move- 
ments of  the  contending  armies.  He  found  one  for 
her,  however,  in  which  she  would  have  ample  scope 
for  all  her  efforts  ;  and  before  he  left  he  interested 
those  in  charge  so  deeply  in  the  white-haired  nurse 
that  he  felt  she  would  always  be  under  watchful, 
friendly  eyes. 

"  Grace,"  he  said,  as  he  was  taking  leave,  "  I 
have  tried  to  be  a  true  friend  to  you." 

"  O  Alford  !"  she  exclaimed,  and  she  seized 
his  hand  and  held  it  in  both  of  hers. 

His  face  grew  stern  rather  than  tender  as  he 
added,  "  You  will  not  be  a  true  friend  to  me — you 
will  wrong  me  deeply — if  you  are  reckless  of  your 
health  and  strength.  Remember  that,  like  myself, 
you  have  entered  the  service,  and  that  you  are 
pledged  to  do  your  duty,  and  not  to  work  with 
feverish  zeal  until  your  strength  fails.  You  are  just 
as  much  under  obligation  to  take  essential  rest  as  to 
care  for  the  most  sorely  wounded  in  your  ward.  I 
shall  take  the  advice  I  give.  Believing  that  I  am 
somewhat  essential  to  your  welfare  and  the  happi- 
ness of  those  whom  we  have  left  at  home,  I  shall  in- 
cur no  risks  beyond  those  which  properly  fall  to  my 
lot,  I  ask  you  to  be  equally  conscientious  and  con- 
siderate of  those  whose  lives  are  bound  up  in  you." 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said,  with  that  same  pathetic  look 
and  utterance  which  had  so  moved  him  on  the  fear- 
ful night  of  his  return  from  the  army.    "  But,  Alford, 


374  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

do  not  speak  to  me  so  gravely,  I  had  almost  said 
sternly,  just  as  we  are  saying  good-by. " 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  smiled  into  her 
pleading  face  as  he  replied,  "  I  only  meant  to  im- 
press you  with  the  truth  that  you  have  a  patient  who 
is  not  in  your  ward, — one  who  will  often  be  sleeping 
under  the  open  sky,  I  know  not  where.  Care  a 
little  for  him,  as  well  as  for  the  unknown  men  in 
your  charge.  This  you  can  do  only  by  taking  care 
of  yourself.  You,  of  all  others,  should  know  that 
there  are  wounds  besides  those  which  will  bring 
men  to  this  hospital." 

Tears  rushed  into  her  eyes  as  she  faltered,  "  You 
could  not  have  made  a  stronger  appeal." 

"  You  will  write  to  me  often  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  yo\x  cannot  write  too  often.  O  Alford, 
I  cannot  wish  you  had  never  seen  me ;  but  it 
would  have  been  far,  far  better  for  you  if  you  had 
not." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  in  low,  strong  emphasis. 
"  Grace  Hilland,  I  would  rather  be  your  friend  than 
have  the  love  of  any  woman  that  ever  lived." 

"  You  do  yourself  great  wrong  (pardon  me  for 
saying  it,  but  your  happiness  is  so  dear  to  me)  you 
do  yourself  great  wrong.  A  girl  like  Pearl  Anderson 
could  make  you  truly  happy  ;  and  you  could  make 
her  happy." 

"  Sweet  little  Pearl  will  be  happy  some  day  ;  and 
I  may  be  one  of  the  causes,  but  not  in  the  way  you 
suggest.  It  is  hard  to  say  good-by  and  leave  you 
here  alone,  and  every  moment  I  stay  only  makes  it 
harder.  " 


THE   WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE,  375 

He  raised  her  hand  once  more  to  his  lips,  then 
almost  rushed  away. 

Days  lapsed  into  weeks,  and  weeks  into  months. 
The  tireless  nurse  alleviated  suffering  of  every  kind  ; 
and  her  silvery  hair  was  like  a  halo  around  a  saintly 
head  to  many  a  poor  fellow.  She  had  the  deep 
solace  of  knowing  that  not  a  few  wives  and  mothers 
would  have  mourned  had  it  not  been  for  her  faith- 
fulness. 

But  her  own  wound  would  not  heal.  She  some- 
times felt  that  she  was  slowly  bleeding  to  death. 
The  deep,  dark  tide  of  suffering,  in  spite  of  all  she 
could  do,  grew  deeper  and  darker  ;  and  she  was 
growing  weary  and  discouraged. 

Graham  saw  her  at  rare  intervals  ;  and  although 
she  brightened  greatly  at  his  presence,  and  made 
heroic  efforts  to  satisfy  him  that  she  was  doing  well, 
he  grew  anxious  and  depressed.  But  there  was 
nothing  tangible,  nothing  definite.  She  was  only  a 
little  paler,  a  little  thinner  ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  it 
she  smilingly  told  him  that  he  was  growing  gaunt 
himself  with  his  hard  campaigning. 

"But  you,  Grace,"  he  complained,  "are  begin- 
ning to  look  like  a  wraith  that  may  vanish  some 
moonlight  night." 

Her  letters  were  frequent,  sometimes  even  cheer- 
ful, but  brief.  He  wrote  at  great  length,  filling  his 
pages  with  descriptions  of  nature,  with  scenes  that 
were  often  humorous  but  not  trivial,  with  genuine 
life,  but  none  of  its  froth.  Life  for  both  had  become 
too  deep  a  tragedy  for  any  nonsense.  He  passed 
through  many  dangers,  but  these,  as  far   as  possi- 


376  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ble,  he  kept  in  the  background  ;  and  fate,  pitying 
his  one  deep  wound,  spared  him  any  others. 

At  last  there  came  the  terrible  battle  of  the 
Wilderness,  and  the  wards  were  filled  with  desper- 
ately wounded  men.  The  poor  nurse  gathered  up 
her  failing  powers  for  one  more  effort ;  and  Con- 
federate and  Union  men  looked  after  her  wonder- 
ingly  and  reverently,  even  in  their  mortal  weakness. 
To  many  she  seemed  like  a  ministering  spirit  rather 
than  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  lips  of  dying 
men  blessed  her  again  and  again.  But  they  brought 
no  blessing.  She  only  shuddered  and  grew  more 
faint  of  heart  as  the  scenes  of  agony  and  death 
increased.  Each  wound  was  a  type  of  Hilland's 
wound,  and  in  every  expiring  man  she  saw  her  hus- 
band die.  Her  poor  little  hands  trembled  now  as 
she  sought  to  stem  the  black,  black  tide  that  deep- 
ened and  broadened  and  foamed  around  her. 

Late  one  night,  after  a  new  influx  of  the  wounded, 
she  was  greatly  startled  while  passing  down  her  ward 
by  hearing  a  voice  exclaim,  "  Grace, — Grace  Brent- 
ford !" 

It  was  her  mother's  name. 

The  call  was  repeated  ;  and  she  tremblingly  ap- 
proached a  cot  on  which  was  lying  a  gray-haired 
man. 

"  Great  God  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  am  I  dreaming? 
am  I  delirious  ?  How  is  it  that  I  see  before  me  the 
woman  I  loved  forty-odd  years  ago  ?  You  cannot 
be  Grace  Brentford,  for  she  died  long  years  since." 

"  No,  but  I  am  her  daughter." 

"  Her  daughter  !"  said  the  man,  struggling  to  rise 


TFIE   WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE,  377 

upon  his  elbow, — "  her  daughter  !  She  should  not 
look  older  than  you." 

"  Alas,  sir,  my  age  is  not  the  work  of  time,  but  of 
grief.  I  grew  old  in  a  day.  But  if  you  knew  and 
loved  my  mother,  you  have  sacred  claims  upon  me. 
I  am  a  nurse  in  this  ward,  and  will  devote  myself  to 
you." 

The  man  sank  back  exhausted.  "  This  is  strange, 
strange  indeed,"  he  said.  "  It  is  God's  own  prov- 
idence. Yes,  my  child,  I  loved  your  mother,  and 
I  love  her  still.  Harry  St.  John  won  her  fairly  ;  but 
he  could  not  have  loved  her  better  than  I.  I  am 
now  a  lonely  old  man,  dying,  I  believe,  in  my 
enemy's  hands,  but  I  thank  God  that  I've  seen  Grace 
Brentford's  child,  and  that  she  can  soothe  my  last 
hours." 

"  Do  not  feel  so  discouraged  about  yourself,"  said 
Grace,  her  tears  falling  fast.  "  Think  rather  that 
you  have  been  brought  here  that  I  might  nurse  you 
back  to  life.  Believe  me,  I  will  do  so  with  tender, 
loving  care." 

"  How  strange  it  all  is  !"  the  man  said  again. 
"  You  have  her  very  voice,  her  manner.  But  it  was 
by  your  eyes  that  I  recognized  you.  Your  eyes  are 
young  and  beautiful  like  hers,  and  full  of  tears,  as 
hers  were  when  she  sent  me  away  with  an  ache  in 
my  heart  that  has  never  ceased.  It  will  soon  be 
cured  now.  Your  father  will  remember  a  wild 
young  planter  down  in  Georgia  by  the  name  of  Phil 
Harkness." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I've  heard  both  of  my  parents  speak 
of  you,  and  it  was  ever  with  respect  and  esteem." 


378  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  Give  my  greeting  to  your  father,  and  say  I  never 
bore  him  any  ill-will.  In  the  saddest  life  there  is 
always  some  compensation.  I  have  had  wealth  and 
honors  ;  I  am  a  colonel  in  our  army,  and  have  been 
able  to  serve  the  cause  I  loved  ;  but,  chief  of  all,  the 
child  of  Grace  Brentford  is  by  my  side  at  the  end. 
Is  your  name  Grace  also  ?" 

"Yes.  O,  why  is  the  world  so  full  of  hopeless 
trouble  ?" 

"  Not  hopeless  trouble,  my  child.  I  am  not  hope- 
less. For  long  years  I  have  had  peace,  if  not  hap- 
piness,— a  deep  inward  calm  which  the  confusion 
and  roar  of  the  bloodiest  battles  could  not  disturb. 
I  can  close  my  eyes  now  in  my  final  sleep  as  quietly 
as  a  child.  In  a  few  hours,  my  dear,  I  may  see  your 
mother ;  and  I  shall  tell  her  that  I  left  her  child  as- 
suaging her  own  sorrow  by  ministering  to  others." 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  sobbed  Grace,  "  pray  cease,  or  I 
shall  not  be  fit  for  my  duties  ;  your  words  pierce  my 
very  soul.  Let  me  nurse  you  back  to  health.  Let 
me  take  you  to  my  home  until  you  are  exchanged, 
for  I  must  return.  I  must,  must.  My  strength  is 
going  fast ;  and  you  bring  before  me  my  dear  old 
father  whom  I  have  left  too  long." 

"  My  poor  child  !  God  comfort  and  sustain  you. 
Do  not  let  me  keep  you  longer  from  your  duties,  and 
from  those  who  need  you  more  than  I.  Come  and 
say  a  word  to  me  when  you  can.  That's  all  I  ask. 
My  wound  was  dressed  before  your  watch  began, 
and  I  am  doing  as  well  as  I  could  expect.  When 
you  feel  like  it,  you  can  tell  me  more  about  your- 
self." 


THE   WHITE-HAIRED  NURSE.  379 

Their  conversation  had  been  in  a  low  tone  as  she 
sat  beside  him,  the  patients  near  either  sleeping  or 
too  preoccupied  by  their  own  sufferings  to  give 
much  heed. 

Weary  and  oppressed  by  bitter  despondency,  she 
went  from  cot  to  cot,  attending  to  the  wants  of 
those  in  her  charge.  To  her  the  old  colonel's  sad 
history  seemed  a  mockery  of  his  faith,  and  but 
another  proof  of  a  godless  or  God-forgotten  world. 
She  envied  his  belief,  with  its  hope  and  peace  ;  but 
he  had  only  increased  her  unbelief.  But  all  through 
the  long  night  she  watched  over  him,  coming  often 
to  his  side  with  delicacies  and  wine,  and  with  gentle 
words  that  were  far  more  grateful. 

Once,  as  she  was  smoothing  back  his  gray  locks 
from  his  damp  forehead,  he  smiled,  and  murmured, 
"  God  bless  you,  my  child.  This  is  a  foretaste  of 
heaven." 

In  the  gray  dawn  she  came  to  him  and  said,  "  My 
watch  is  over,  and  I  must  leave  you  for  a  little  while  ; 
but  as  soon  as  I  have  rested  I  will  come  again." 

"Grace,"  he  faltered,  hesitatingly,  "would  you 
mind  kissing  an  old,  old  man  ?  I  never  had  a  child 
of  my  own  to  kiss  me." 

She  stooped  down  and  kissed  him  again  and  again, 
and  he  felt  her  hot  tears  upon  his  face. 

"You  have  a  tender  heart,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  Good-by,  Grace, — Grace  Brentford's  ^hild. 
Dear  Grace,  when  we  meet  again  perhaps  all  tears 
will  be  wiped  from  your  eyes  forever." 

She  stole  away  exhausted  and  almost  despairing. 
On  reaching  her  little  room  she  sank  on  her  couch 


380  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

moaning,  "  O  Warren,  Warren,  would  that  I  were 
sleeping  your  dreamless  sleep  beside  you  !" 

Long  before  it  was  time  for  her  to  go  on  duty 
again  she  returned  to  the  ward  to  visit  her  aged 
friend.  His  cot  was  empty.  In  reply  to  her  eager 
question  she  was  told  that  he  had  died  suddenly 
from  internal  hemorrhage  soon  after  she  had  left 
him. 

She  looked  dazed  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  had 
received  a  blow,  then  fell  fainting  on  the  cot  from 
which  her  mother's  friend  had  been  taken.  The 
limit  of  her  endurance  was  passed. 

Before  the  day  closed,  the  surgeon  in  charge  of 
the  hospital  told  her  gently  and  firmly  that  she 
must  take  an  indefinite  leave  of  absence.  She 
departed  at  once  in  the  care  of  an  attendant  ;  but 
stories  of  the  white-haired  nurse  lingered  so  long  in 
the  ward  and  hospital  that  at  last  they  began  to 
grow  vague  and  marvellous  like  the  legends  of  a 
saint. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

RITA'S   BROTHER. 

ALL  through  the  campaign  of  '64  the  crimson 
tide  of  war  deepened  and  broadened.  Even 
Graham's  cool  and  veteran  spirit  was  appalled  at 
the  awful  slaughter  on  either  side.  The  Army  of 
the  Potomac — the  grandest  army  ever  organized, 
and  always  made  more  sublime  and  heroic  by  defeat 
— was  led  by  a  man  as  remorseless  as  fate.  He  was 
fate  to  thousands  of  loyal  men,  whom  he  placed 
at  will  as  coolly  as  if  they  had  been  the  pieces  on 
a  chess-board.  He  was  fate  to  the  Confederacy, 
upon  whose  throat  he  placed  his  iron  grasp,  never 
relaxed  until  life  was  extinct.  In  May,  1864, 
he  quietly  crossed  the  Rapidan  for  the  death- 
grapple.  He  took  the  most  direct  route  for  Rich- 
mond, ignoring  all  obstacles  and  the  fate  of  his 
predecessors.  To  think  that  General  Grant  wished 
to  fight  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness  is  pure  idiocy. 
One  would  almost  as  soon  choose  the  Dismal  Swamp 
for  a  battle-ground.  It  was  undoubtedly  his  hope  to 
pass  beyond  that  gloomy  tangle,  over  which  the 
shadow  of  death  had  brooded  ever  since  fatal  Chan- 
cellorsville.     But  Lee,  his  brilliant  and  vigilant  op- 


382  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

ponent,  rarely  lost  an  advantage ;  and  Graham's 
experienced  eye,  as  with  the  cavalry  he  was  in  the 
extreme  advance,  clearly  saw  that  their  position 
would  give  their  foes  enormous  advantages.  Lee's 
movements  would  be  completely  masked  by  the 
almost  impervious  growth.  He  and  his  lieutenants 
could  approach  within  striking  distance,  whenever 
they  chose,  without  being  seen,  and  had  little  to  fear 
from  the  Union  artillery,  which  the  past  had  given 
them  much  cause  to  dread.  It  was  a  region  also  to 
disgust  the  very  soul  of  a  cavalryman  ;  for  the  low, 
scrubby  growth  lined  the  narrow  roads  almost  as 
effectually  as  the  most  scientifically  prepared  abatis. 

Graham's  surmise  was  correct.  Lee  would  not 
wait  till  his  antagonist  had  reached  open  and  favor- 
able ground,  but  attacked  at  once,  where,  owing  to 
peculiarities  of  position,  one  of  his  thin  regiments 
had  often  the  strength  of  a  brigade. 

On  the  morning  of  the  5th  of  May  began  one  of 
the  most  awful  and  bloody  battles  in  the  annals  of 
warfare.  Indeed  it  was  the  beginning  of  one  long 
and  almost  continuous  struggle  which  ended  only 
at  Appomattox. 

With  a  hundred  thousand  more,  Graham  was 
swept  into  the  bloody  vortex,  and  through  summer 
heat,  autumn  rains,  and  winter  cold,  he  marched 
and  fought  with  little  rest.  He  was  eventually  given, 
the  colonelcy  of  his  regiment,  and  at  times  com- 
manded a  brigade.  He  passed  through  unnumbered 
dangers  unscathed  ;  and  his  invulnerability  became  a 
proverb  among  his  associates.  Indeed  he  was  a 
mystery  to  them,  for  his  face  grew  sadder  and  sterner 


RITA'S  BROTHER.  383 

every  day,  and  his  reticence  about  himself  and  all 
his  affairs  was  often  remarked  upon.  His  men  and 
officers  had  unbounded  respect  for  him,  that  was  not 
wholly  unmixed  with  fear  ;  for  while  he  was  consider- 
ate, and  asked  for  no  exposure  to  danger  in  which 
he  did  not  share,  his  steady  discipline  was  never 
relaxed,  and  he  kept  himself  almost  wholly  aloof, 
except  as  their  military  relations  required  contact. 
He  could  not,  therefore,  be  popular  among  the  hard- 
swearing,  rollicking,  and  convivial  cavalrymen.  In 
a  long  period  of  inaction  he  might  have  become 
very  unpopular,  but  the  admirable  manner  in  which 
he  led  them  in  action,  and  his  sagacious  care  of  them 
and  their  horses  on  the  march  and  in  camp,  led 
them  to  trust  him  implicitly.  '  Chief  of  all,  he  had 
acquired  that  which  with  the  stern  veterans  of  that 
day  went  farther  than  anything  else,— a  reputation 
for  dauntless  courage.  What  they  objected  to  were 
his  "  glum  looks  and  unsocial  ways, "as  they  termed 
them. 

They  little  knew  that  his  cold,  stern  face  hid  suf- 
fering that  was  growing  almost  desperate  in  its  inten- 
sity. They  little  knew  that  he  was  chained  to  his 
military  duty  as  to  a  rock,  while  a  vulture  of  anxiety 
was  eating  out  his  very  heart.  What  was  a  pale, 
thin,  white-haired  woman  to  them  ?  But  what  to 
him^  ?  How  true  it  is  that  often  the  heaviest  burdens 
of  life  are  those  at  which  the  world  would  laugh,  and 
of  which  the  overweighted  heart  cannot  and  will  not 
speak  ! 

For  a  long  time  after  his  plunge  into  the  dreary 
depths  of  the  Wilderness  he  had  received  no  letters. 


384  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Then  he  had  learned  of  Grace's  return  home  ;  and  at 
first  he  was  glad  indeed.  His  aunt  had  written 
nothing  more  alarming  than  that  Grace  had  over- 
taxed her  strength  in  caring  for  the  throngs  of 
wounded  men  sent  from  the  Wilderness,  that  she 
needed  rest  and  good  tonic  treatment.  Then  came 
word  that  she  was  "  better  ;"  then  they  "hoped 
she  was  gaining  ;"  then  they  were  about  to  go  to 
"  the  sea-shore,  and  Grace  had  always  improved  in 
salt  air."  It  was  then  intimated  that  she  had  found 
"the  summer  heat  very  enervating,  and  now  that 
fall  winds  were  blowing  she  would  grow  stronger." 
At  last,  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  it  was  admitted 
that  she  had  not  improved  as  they  had  hoped  ;  but 
they  thought  she  was  holding  her  own  very  well — 
that  the  continued  and  terrific  character  of  the  war 
oppressed  her, — and  that  every  day  she  dreaded  to 
hear  that  he  had  been  stricken  among  other  thou- 
sands. 

Thus  little  by  little,  ever  softened  by  some  excuse 
or  some  hope,  the  bitter  truth  grew  plain  :  Grace 
was  failing,  fading,  threatening  to  vanish.  He 
wrote  as  often  as  he  could,  and  sought  with  all  his 
skill  to  cheer,  sustain,  and  reconcile  her  to  life.  At 
first  she  wrote  to  him  not  infrequently,  but  her 
letters  grew  farther  and  farther  apart,  and  at  last 
she  wrote,  in  the  early  spring  of  '65  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  you,  Alford  ;  but  I  know  it  is 
impossible.  You  are  strong,  you  are  doing  much 
to  end  this  awful  war,  and  it's  your  duty  to  remain  at 
your  post.  You  must  not  sully  your  perfect  image  in 
my  mind,  or  add  to  my  unhappiness  by  leaving  the 


RIl'A'S  BROTHER.  385 

service  now  for  my  sake.  I  have  learned  the  one 
bitter  lesson  of  the  times.  No  matter  how  much  per- 
sonal agony,  physical  or  mental,  is  involved,  the  war 
must  go  on  ;  and  each  one  must  keep  his  place  in  the 
ranks  till  he  falls  or  is  disabled.  I  have  fallen.  I  am 
disabled.  My  wound  will  not  close,  and  drop  by 
drop  life  and  strength  are  ebbing.  I  know  I  disap- 
point you,  my  true,  true  friend  ;  but  I  cannot  help  it. 
Do  not  reproach  me.  Do  not  blame  me  too  harshly. 
Think  me  weak,  as  I  truly  am.  Indeed,  when  I  am 
gone  your  chances  will  be  far  better.  It  costs  me  a 
great  effort  to  write  this.  There  is  a  weight  on  my 
hand  and  brain  as  well  as  on  my  heart.  Hereafter 
I  will  send  my  messages  through  dear,  kind  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  who  has  been  a  mother  to  me  in  all  my 
sorrow.  Do  not  fear  :  I  will  wait  till  you  can  come 
with  honor  ;  for  I  must  see  you  once  more." 

For  a  long  time  after  receiving  this  letter  a  despair 
fell  on  Graham.  He  was  so  mechanical  in  the  per- 
formance of  his  duties  that  his  associates  wondered 
at  him,  and  he  grew  more  gaunt  and  haggard  than 
ever.  Then  in  sharp  reaction  came  a  feverish  eager- 
ness to  see  the  war  ended. 

Indeed  all  saw  that  the  end  was  near,  and  none, 
probably,  more  clearly  than  the  gallant  and  indom- 
itable Lee  himself.  At  last  the  Confederate  army 
was  outflanked,  the  lines  around  Petersburg  were 
broken  through,  and  the  final  pursuit  began.  It  was 
noted  that  Graham  fought  and  charged  with  an 
almost  tiger-like  fierceness  ;  and  for  once  his  men 
said  with  reason  that  he  had  no  mercy  on  them. 
He  was  almost  counting  the  hours  until  the  time 


386  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

when  he  could  sheathe  his  sword  and  say  with 
honor,  "  I  resign." 

One  morning  they  struck  a  large  force  of  the 
enemy,  and  he  led  a  headlong  charge.  For  a  time 
the  fortunes  of  the  battle  wavered,  for  the  Con- 
federates fought  with  the  courage  of  desperation. 
Graham  on  his  powerful  horse  soon  became  a  con- 
spicuous object,  and  all  gave  way  before  him  as  if  he 
were  a  messenger  of  death,  at  the  same  time  wonder- 
ing at  his  invulnerability. 

The  battle  surged  on  and  forward  until  the  enemy 
were  driven  into  a  thick  piece  of  woods.  Graham  on 
the  right  of  his  line  directed  his  bugler  to  give  the 
order  to  dismount,  and  a  moment  later  his  line  of 
battle  plunged  into  the  forest.  In  the  desperate 
melh'  that  followed  in  the  underbrush,  he  was  lost  to 
sight  except  to  a  few  of  his  men.  It  was  here  that 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  a  Confederate  officer, 
from  whose  eyes  flashed  the  determination  either  to 
slay  or  to  be  slain.  Graham  had  crossed  swords  with 
him  but  a  moment  when  he  recognized  that  he  had 
no  ordinary  antagonist  ;  and  with  his  instinct  of  fight 
aroused  to  its  highest  pitch  he  gave  himself  up 
wholly  to  a  personal  and  mortal  combat,  shouting 
meantime  to  those  near,  "  Leave  this  man  to  me." 

Looking  his  opponent  steadily  in  the  eye,  like  a 
true  swordsman,  he  remained  first  on  the  defensive  ; 
and  such  was  his  skill  that  his  long,  straight  blade 
was  a  shield  as  well  as  a  weapon.  Suddenly  the 
dark  eyes  and  features  of  his  opponent  raised  before 
him  the  image  of  Rita  Anderson  ;  and  he  was  so 
overcome  for  a  second  that  the  Confederate  touched 


RITA'S  BROTHER.  387 

his  breast  with  his  sabre,  and  drew  blood.  That 
sharp  prick  and  the  thought  that  Rita's  brother 
might  be  before  him  aroused  every  faculty  and 
power  of  his  mind  and  body.  His  sword  was  a 
shield  again,  and  he  shouted,  "  Is  not  your  name 
Henry  Anderson  ?" 

"  My  name  is  our  cause,"  was  the  defiant  answer  ; 
"  with  it  I  will  live  or  die." 

Then  came  upon  Graham  one  of  those  rare 
moments  in  his  life  when  no  mortal  man  could  stand 
before  him.  Ceasing  his  wary,  rapid  fence,  his  sword 
played  like  lightning  ;  and  in  less  than  a  moment 
the  Confederate's  sabre  fiew  from  his  hand,  and  he 
stood  helpless. 

"  Strike,"  he  said,  sullenly  ;  "  I  won't  surrender." 

"I'd  sooner  cut  off  my  right  hand,"  replied 
Graham,  smiling  upon  him,  "  than  strike  the  brother 
of  Rita  Anderson." 

"Is  your  name  Graham?"  asked  his  opponent, 
his  aspect  changing  instantly. 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  are  Henry.  I  saw  your  sister's 
eyes  in  yours.  Take  up  your  sword,  and  go  quietly 
to  the  rear  as  my  friend,  not  prisoner.  I  adjure 
you,  by  the  name  of  your  old  and  honored  father 
and  your  noble-hearted  sister,  to  let  me  keep  my 
promise  to  them  to  save  your  life,  were  it  ever  in  my 
power. 

"  I  yield,"  said  the  young  man,  in  deep  despond- 
ency. "  Our  cause  is  lost,  and  you  are  the  only  man 
in  the  North  to  whom  I  should  be  willing  to  sur- 
render.    Colonel,  I  will  obey  your  orders." 

Summoning  his  orderly   and   another  soldier,  he 


388  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

said  to  them,  "  Escort  this  gentleman  to  the  rear. 
Let  him  keep  his  arms.  I  have  too  much  confi- 
dence in  you,  Colonel  Anderson,  even  to  ask  that 
3'ou  promise  not  to  escape.  Treat  him  with  respect. 
He  will  share  my  quarters  to-night."  And  then  he 
turned  and  rushed  onward  to  overtake  the  extreme 
advance  of  his  line,  wondering  at  the  strange  scene 
which  had  passed  with  almost  the  rapidity  of 
thought. 

That  night  by  Graham's  camp-fire  began  a  friend- 
ship between  himself  and  Henry  Anderson  which 
would  be  lifelong.  The  latter  asked,  "  Have  you 
heard  from  my  father  and  sister  since  you  parted 
with  them  ?" 

"  No.  My  duties  have  carried  me  far  away  from 
that  region.  But  it  is  a  source  of  unspeakable  grati- 
fication that  we  have  met,  and  that  you  can  tell  me 
of  their  welfare." 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  destiny,  or,  as  father  would 
say,  Providence,  had  linked  my  fortunes  and  those  of 
my  family  with  you.  He  and  Rita  would  actually 
have  suffered  with  hunger  but  for  you.  Since  you 
were  there  the  region  has  been  tramped  and  fought 
over  by  the  forces  of  both  sides,  and  sv/ept  bare. 
My  father  mentioned  your  name  and  that  of  Colonel 
Hilland  ;  and  a  guard  was  placed  over  his  house,  and 
he  and  Rita  were  saved  from  any  personal  annoyance. 
But  all  of  his  slaves,  except  the  old  woman  you 
remember,  were  either  run  off  or  enticed  away,  and 
his  means  of  livelihood  practically  destroyed.  Old 
Uncle  Jehu  and  his  son  Huey  have  almost  supported 
them.      They,   simple  souls,   could   not  keep  your 


RITA'S  BROTHER.  389 

secret,  though  they  tried  to  after  their  clumsy 
fashion.  My  pay,  you  know,  was  almost  worthless  ; 
and  indeed  there  was  little  left  for  them  to  buy. 
Colonel  Graham,  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  far  more 
than  life,  which  has  become  well-nigh  a  burden  to 
me." 

"  Life  has  brought  far  heavier  burdens  to  others 
than  to  you.  Colonel  Anderson.  Those  you  love  are 
living  ;  and  to  provide  for  and  protect  such  a  father 
and  sister  as  you  possess  might  well  give  zest  to  any 
life.  Your  cause  is  lost ;  and  the  time  may  come 
sooner  than  you  expect  when  you  will  be  right  glad 
of  it.  I  know  you  cannot  think  so  now,  and  we  will 
not  dwell  on  this  topic.  I  can  testify  from  four 
years'  experience  that  no  cause  was  ever  defended 
with  higher  courage  or  more  heroic  self-sacrifice. 
But  your  South  is  not  lost  ;  and  it  will  be  the  fault 
of  its  own  people  if  it  does  not  work  out  a  grander 
destiny  within  the  Union  than  it  could  ever  achieve 
alone.  But  don't  let  us  discuss  politics.  You  have 
the  same  right  to  your  views  that  I  have  to  mine. 
I  will  tell  you  how  much  I  owe  to  your  father  and 
sister,  and  then  you  will  see  that  the  burden  of 
obligation  rests  upon  me  ;"  and  he  gave  his  own 
version  of  that  memorable  day  whose  consequences 
threatened  to  culminate  in  Grace  Hilland's  death. 

Under  the  dominion  of  this  thought  he  could  not 
hide  the  anguish  of  his  mind  ;  and  Rita  had  hinted 
enough  in  her  letters  to  enable  Anderson  to  com- 
prehend his  new-found  friend.  He  took  Graham's 
hand,  and  as  he  wrung  it  he  said,  "  Yes,  life  has 
brought  to  others  heavier  burdens  than  to  me." 


39°  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"You  may  have  thought,"  resumed  Graham, 
"  that  I  fought  savagely  to-day  ;  but  I  felt  that  it  is 
best  for  all  to  end  this  useless,  bloody  struggle  as  soon 
as  possible.  As  for  myself,  I'm  just  crazed  with  anx- 
iety to  get  away  and  return  home.  Of  course  we  can- 
not be  together  after  to-night,  for  with  the  dawn  I 
must  be  in  the  saddle.  To-night  you  shall  share  my 
blankets.  You  must  let  me  treat  you  as  your  father 
and  Rita  treated  me.  I  will  divide  my  money  with 
you  :  don't  grieve  me  by  objecting.  Call  it  a  loan  if 
you  will.  Your  currency  is  now  worthless.  You 
must  go  with  the  other  prisoners  ;  but  1  can  soon 
obtain  your  release  on  parole,  and  then,  in  the  name 
of  all  that  is  sacred,  return  home  to  those  who  idol- 
ize you.  Do  this.  Colonel  Anderson,  and  you  will 
lift  a  heavy  burden  from  one  already  overweighted." 

"  As  you  put  the  case  I  cannot  do  otherwise,"  was 
the  sad  reply.  "  Indeed  I  have  no  heart  for  any 
more  useless  fighting.  My  duty  now  is  clearly  to 
my  father  and  sister." 

That  night  the  two  men  slumbered  side  by  side, 
and  in  the  dawn  parted  more  like  brothers  than  like 
foes. 

As  Graham  had  predicted,  but  a  brief  time  elapsed 
before  Lee  surrendered,  and  Colonel  Anderson's 
liberty  on  parole  was  soon  secured.  They  parted 
with  the  assurance  that  they  would  meet  again  as 
soon  as  circumstances  would  permit. 

At  the  earliest  hour  in  which  he  could  depart 
with  honor,  Graham's  urgent  entreaty  secured  him 
a  leave  of  absence  ;  and  he  lost  not  a  moment  in 
his  return,  sending  to  his  aunt  in  advance  a  tele- 
gram to  announce  his  coming. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

HIS    SOMBRE     RIVALS. 

NEVER  had  his  noble  horse  Mayburn  seemed 
to  fail  him  until  the  hour  that  severed  the 
military  chain  which  had  so  long  bound  him  to  inex- 
orable duty,  and  yet  the  faithful  beast  was  carrying 
him  like  the  wind.  Iss,  his  servant,  soon  fell  so  far 
behind  that  Graham  paused  and  told  him  to  come  on 
more  leisurely,  that  Mayburn  would  be  at  the  ter- 
minus of  the  military  railroad.  And  there  Iss  found 
him,  with  drooping  head  and  white  with  foam.  The 
steam-engine  was  driven  to  City  Point  with  the 
reckless  speed  characteristic  of  military  railroads  ;  but 
to  Graham  the  train  seemed  to  crawl.  He  caught  a 
steamer  bound  for  Washington,  and  paced  the  deck, 
v/hile  in  the  moonlight  the  dark  shores  of  the  James 
looked  stationary.  From  Washington  the  lightning 
express  was  in  his  viev/  more  dilatory  than  the  most 
lumbering  stage  of  the  old  regime. 

When  at  last  he  reached  the  gate  to  his  aunt's 
cottage  and  walked  swiftly  up  the  path,  the  hour  and 
the  scene  were  almost  the  same  as  when  he  had  first 
come,  an  indifferent  stranger,  long  years  before.  The 
fruit-trees  were  as  snowy  white  with  blossoms,  the  air 


392  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

as  fragrant,  the  birds  singing  as  jubilantly,  as  when 
he  had  stood  at  the  window  and  gazed  with  critical 
admiration  on  a  sportive  girl,  a  child-woman,  playing 
with  her  little  Spitz  dog.  As  he  passed  the  spot 
where  she  had  stood,  beneath  his  ambush  behind  the 
curtains,  his  excited  mind  brought  back  her  image 
with  life-like  realism, — the  breeze  in  her  light  hair, 
her  dark  eyes  brimming  with  mirth,  her  bosom  pant- 
ing from  her  swift  advance,  and  the  color  of  the  red 
rose  in  her  cheeks. 

He  groaned  as  he  thought  of  her  now. 

His  aunt  saw  him  from  the  window,  and  a  moment 
later  was  sobbing  on  his  breast. 

"  Aunt,"  he  gasped,  "  I'm  not  too  late  ?" 

"  O,  no,"  she  said,  wearily  ;  "  Grace  is  alive  ;  but 
one  can  scarcely  say  much  more.  Alford,  you  must 
be  prepared  for  a  sad  change." 

He  placed  her  in  her  chair,  and  stood  before  her 
with  heaving  breast.  "  Now  tell  me  all,"  he  said, 
hoarsely. 

"  O,  Alford,  you  frighten  me.  You  must  be  more 
composed.  You  cannot  see  Grace,  looking  and 
feeling  as  you  do.  She  is  weakness  itself ;"  and  she 
told  him  how  the  idol  of  his  heart  was  slowly,  grad- 
ually, but  inevitably  sinking  into  the  grave. 

"Alford,  Alford,"  she  cried,  entreatingly,  "why 
do  you  look  so  stern  ?  You  could  not  look  more 
terrible  in  the  most  desperate  battle." 

In  low,  deep  utterance,  he  said,  "  This  is  my  most 
desperate  battle  ;  and  in  it  are  the  issues  of  Hfe  and 
death." 

"  You  terrify  me,  and  can  you  think  that  a  weak, 


HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS.  393 

dying  woman  can  look  upon  you  as  you  now 
appear  ?" 

"She  shall  not  die,"  he  continued,  in  the  same 
low,  stern  utterance,  "  and  she  must  look  upon  me, 
and  listen,  too.  Aunt,  you  have  been  faithful  to  me 
all  these  years.  You  have  been  my  mother.  I  must 
entreat  one  more  service.  You  must  second  me, 
sustain  me,  co-work  with  me.  You  must  ally  all  your 
experienced  womanhood  with  my  manhood,  and 
with  my  will,  which  may  be  broken,  but  which  shall 
not  yield  to  my  cruel  fate." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

"That  will  soon  be  manifest.  Go  and  prepare 
Grace  for  my  visit.  I  wish  to  see  her  alone.  You 
will  please  be  near,  however  ;"  and  he  abruptly 
turned  and  went  to  his  room  to  remove  his  military 
suit  and  the  dust  of  travel. 

He  had  given  his  directions  as  if  in  the  field,  and 
she  wonderingly  and  tremblingly  obeyed,  feeling 
that  some  crisis  was  near. 

Grace  was  greatly  agitated  when  she  heard  of 
Graham's  arrival ;  and  two  or  three  hours  elapsed 
before  she  was  able  to  be  carried  down  and  placed 
on  the  sofa  in  the  library.  He,  out  in  the  darkness 
on  the  piazza,  watched  with  eyes  that  glowed  like 
coals, — -watched  as  he  had  done  in  the  most  desperate 
emergency  of  all  the  bloody  years  of  battle.  He  saw 
her  again,  and  in  her  wasted,  helpless  form,  her  hol- 
low cheeks,  her  bloodless  face,  with  its  weary,  hope- 
less look,  her  mortal  weakness,  he  clearly  recognized 
his  sombre  rivals,  grief  and  death  ;  and  with  a  look 
of  indomitable  resolution  he  raised  his  hand  and 


394  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

vowed  that  he  would  enter  the  lists  against  them. 
If  it  were  within  the  scope  of  human  will  he  would 
drive  them  from  their  prey. 

His  aunt  met  him  in  the  hall  and  whispered,  "  Be 
gentle." 

"  Remain  here,"  was  his  low  reply.  "  I  have  also 
sent  for  Dr.  Markham  ;"  and  he  entered. 

Grace  reached  out  to  him  both  her  hands  as  she 
said,  "  O,  Alford,  you  are  barely  in  time.  It  is 
a  comfort  beyond  all  words  to  see  you  before — be- 
fore— "     She  could  not  finish  the  sinister  sentence. 

He  gravely  and  silently  took  her  hands,  and  sat 
down  beside  her. 

"  I  know  I  disappoint  you,"  she  continued.  "  I've 
been  your  evil  genius,  I've  saddened  your  whole 
life  ;  and  you  have  been  so  true  and  faithful  !  Prom- 
ise me,  Alford,  that  after  I'm  gone  you  will  not  let 
my  blighted  life  cast  its  shadow  over  your  future 
years.     How  strangely  stern  you  look  !" 

"  So  you  intend  to  die,  Grace  ?"  were  his  first,  low 
words. 

"  Intend  to  die  ?" 

"  Yes.  Do  you  think  you  are  doing  right  by  your 
father  in  dying?" 

"  Dear,  dear  papa  \  I  have  long  ceased  to  be  a 
comfort  to  him.  He,  too,  will  be  better  when  I  am 
gone.  I  am  now  a  hopeless  grief  to  him.  Alford, 
dear  Alford,  do  not  look  at  me  in  that  way." 

"  How  else  can  I  look  ?  Do  you  not  comprehend 
what  your  death  means  to  me,  if  not  to  others  ?" 

"  Alford,  can  I  help  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  you  can.     It  will  be  sheer,  downright 


HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS  395 

selfishness  for  you  to  die.  It  will  be  your  one  un- 
worthy act.  You  have  no  disease  :  you  have  only 
to  comply  with  the  conditions  of  life  in  order  to 
live." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  said,  the  faintest  possi- 
ble color  coming  into  her  face.  "  The  bullet  that 
caused  Warren's  death  has  been  equally  fatal  to  me. 
Have  I  not  tried  to  live  ?" 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  try  to  live,  but  to  live.  Nay, 
more,  I  demand  it  ;  and  I  have  the  right.  I  ask  for 
nothing  more.  Although  I  have  loved  you,  idolized 
you  all  these  years,  I  ask  only  that  you  comply  with 
the  conditions  of  life  and  live." 

The  color  deepened  perceptibly  under  his  em- 
phatic words,  and  she  said,  "  Can  a  woman  live 
whose  heart,  and  hope,  and  soul,  if  she  has  one,  are 
dead  and  buried  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  surely  as  a  man  whose  heart  and  hope 
were  buried  long  years  before.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  weakly  purposed  to  throw  off  the  burden  of 
life  ;  but  I  promised  to  live  and  do  my  best,  and  I 
am  here  to-day.  You  must  make  me  the  same  prom- 
ise. In  the  name  of  all  the  past,  I  demand  it.  Do 
you  imagine  that  I  am  going  to  sit  down  tamely  and 
shed  a  few  helpless  tears  if  you  do  me  this  immeas- 
urable wrong  ?" 

"  O  Alford  !"  she  gasped,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  am  not  here,  Grace,  to  make  threats,"  he  said 
gravely  ;  "  but  I  fear  you  have  made  a  merely  super- 
ficial estimate  of  my  nature.  Hilland  is  not.  You 
know  that  I  would  have  died  a  hundred  times  in  his 
place.     He  committed  you  to  my  care  with  his  last 


396  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

breath,  and  that  trust  gave  value  to  my  life.  What 
right  have  you  to  die  and  bring  to  me  the  blackness 
of  despair  ?  I  am  willing  to  bear  my  burden  patiently 
to  the  end.     You  should  be  willing  to  bear  yours." 

"  I  admit  your  claim,"  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  You  have  made  death,  that  I  welcome,  a 
terror.  How  can  I  live  ?  What  is  there  left  of  me 
but  a  shadow  ?  What  am  I  but  a  mere  semblance 
of  a  woman  ?  The  snow  is  not  whiter  than  my  hair, 
or  colder  than  my  heart.  O  Alford,  you  have 
grown  morbid  in  all  these  years.  You  cannot  know 
what  is  best.  Your  true  chance  is  to  let  me  go.  I 
am  virtually  dead  now,  and  when  my  flickering 
breath  ceases,  the  change  will  be  slight  indeed." 

"  It  will  be  a  fatal  change  for  me,"  he  replied, 
with  such  calm  emphasis  that  she  shuddered.  "  You 
ask  how  you  can  live.  Again  I  repeat,  by  comply- 
ing with  the  conditions  of  life.  You  have  been 
complying  with  the  conditions  of  death  ;  and  I  will 
not  yield  you  to  him.  Grief  has  been  a  far  closer 
and  more  cherished  friend  than  I  ;  and  you  have  per- 
mitted it,  like  a  shadow,  to  stand  between  us.  The 
time  has  now  come  when  you  must  choose  between 
this  fatal  shadow,  this  useless,  selfish  grief,  and  a 
loyal  friend,  who  only  asks  that  he  may  see  you  at 
times,  that  he  may  know  where  to  find  the  one  life 
that  is  essential  to  his  life.  Can  you  not  understand 
from  your  own  experience  that  a  word  from  you  is 
sweeter  to  me  than  all  the  music  of  the  world  ? — that 
smiles  from  you  will  give  me  courage  to  fight  the 
battle  of  life  to  the  last  ?  Had  Hilland  come  back 
wounded,  would  you  have  listened  if  he  had  rea- 


HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS.  397 

soned,  "  I  am  weak  and  maimed, — not  like  my  old 
self ;  you  will  be  better  off  without  me  '  ?" 

"  Say  no  more,"  she  faltered.  "  If  a  shadow  can 
live,  I  will.  If  a  poor,  heartless,  hopeless  creature 
can  continue  to  breathe,  I  will.  If  I  die,  as  I  believe 
I  must,  I  will  die  doing  just  what  you  ask.  If  it  is 
possible  for  me  to  live,  I  shall  disappoint  you  more 
bitterly  than  ever.  Alford,  believe  me,  the  woman 
is  dead  within  me.  If  I  live  I  shall  become  I  know 
not  what, — a  sort  of  unnatural  creature,  having  little 
more  than  physical  life." 

"  Grace,  our  mutual  belief  forbids  such  a  thought. 
If  a  plant  is  deeply  shadowed,  and  moisture  is  with- 
drawn, it  begins  to  die.  Bring  to  it  again  light  and 
moisture,  the  conditions  of  its  life,  and  it  gradually 
revives  and  resumes  its  normal  state.  This  principle 
applies  equally  to  you  in  your  higher  order  of  exist- 
ence. Will  you  promise  me  that,  at  the  utmost 
exertion  of  your  will  and  intelligence,  you  will  try 
to  live  ?" 

*'  Yes,  Alford  ;  but  again  I  warn  you.  You  will 
be  disappointed." 

He  kissed  both  her  hands  with  a  manner  that 
evinced  profound  gratitude  and  respect,  but  nothing 
more  ;  and  then  summoned  his  aunt  and  Dr.  Mark- 
ham. 

Grace  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  white  and  faint,  with 
closed  eyes. 

"O  Alford,  what  have  you  done?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Mayburn. 

"  What  is  right  and  rational.  Dr.  Markham,  Mrs. 
Hilland  has  promised  to  use  the  utmost  exertion  of 


398  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

her  will  and  intelligence  to  live.  I  ask  that  you  and 
my  aunt  employ  your  utmost  skill  and  intelligence 
in  co-operation  with  her  effort.  We  here — all  four 
of  us — enter  upon  a  battle  ;  and,  like  all  battles,  it 
should  be  fought  with  skill  and  indomitable  courage, 
not  sentimental  impulse.  I  know  that  Mrs.  Hilland 
will  honestly  make  the  effort,  for  she  is  one  to  keep 
her  word.     Am  I  not  right,  Grace  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  faint  reply. 

"  Why,  now  I  can  go  to  work  with  hope,"  said 
the  physician  briskly,  as  he  gave  his  patient  a  little 
stimulant. 

"  And  I  also,"  cried  the  old  lady,  tears  streaming 
down  her  face.  "  O  darling  Grace,  you  will  live 
and  keep  all  our  hearts  from  breaking." 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said,  in  almost  mortal  weariness. 

When  she  had  been  revived  somewhat  by  his 
restoratives.  Dr.  Markham  said,  "  I  now  advise  that 
she  be  carried  back  to  her  room,  and  I  promise  to  be 
unwearied  in  my  care." 

"  No,"  said  Graham  to  his  aunt.  "  Do  not  call 
the  servants  ;  I  shall  carry  her  to  her  room  myself  ;" 
and  he  lifted  her  as  gently  as  he  would  take  up  a 
child,  and  bore  her  strongly  and  easily  to  her  room. 

"  Poor,  poor  Alford  !"  she  whispered, — "  wasting 
your  rich,  full  heart  on  a  shadow." 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

ALL   MATERIALISTS. 

WHEN  Graham  returned  to  the  library  he 
found  that  the  major  had  tottered  in,  and 
was  awaiting  him  with  a  look  of  intense  anxiety. 

"  Graham,  Graham  !"  he  cried,  "  do  you  think 
there  is  any  hope  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir.  I  think  there  is  almost  a  certainty 
that  your  daughter  will  live." 

"  Now  God  be  praised  !  although  I  have  little  right 
to  say  it,  for  I've  put  His  name  to  a  bad  use  all  my 
life." 

"  I  don't  think  any  harm  has  been  done,"  said 
Graham,  smiling. 

"  O,  I  know,  I  know  how  wise  you  German  stu- 
dents are.  You  can't  find  God  with  a  microscope 
or  a  telescope,  and  therefore  there  is  none.  But  I'm 
the  last  man  to  criticise.  Grace  has  been  my  divin- 
ity since  her  mother  died  ;  and  if  you  can  give  a  rea- 
sonable hope  that  she'll  live  to  close  my  eyes,  I'll 
thank  the  God  that  my  wife  worshipped,  in  spite  of 
all  your  new-fangled  philosophies." 

"  And  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  so  wanting  in  cour- 
tesy, to   say   the   least,  as   to  show   anything   but 


400  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

respect  for  your  convictions.  You  shall  know  the 
whole  truth  about  Grace  ;  and  I  shall  look  to  you  also 
for  aid  in  a  combined  effort  to  rally  and  strengthen 
her  forces  of  life.  You  know,  Major,  that  I  have 
seen  some  service. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  boy  that  you  are,  you  are  a  hundred- 
fold more  of  a  veteran  than  I  am.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  war  I  felt  very  superior  and  experienced.  But 
the  war  that  I  saw  was  mere  child's  play." 

"  Well,  sir,  the  war  that  I've  been  through  was 
child's  play  to  me  compared  with  the  battle  begun 
to-night.  I  never  feared  death,  except  as  it  might 
bring  trouble  to  others,  and  for  long  years  I  coveted 
it  ;  but  I  fear  the  death  of  Grace  Hilland  beyond 
anything  in  this  world  or  any  other.  As  her  father, 
you  now  shall  learn  the  whole  truth  ;"  and  he  told 
his  story  from  the  evening  of  their  first  game  of 
whist  together. 

"  Strange,  strange  !"  muttered  the  old  man. 
"  It's  the  story  of  Philip  Harkness  over  again.  But, 
by  the  God  who  made  me,  she  shall  reward  you  if 
she  lives." 

"  No,  Major  St.  John,  no.  She  shall  devote  her- 
self to  you,  and  live  the  life  that  her  own  feelings 
dictate.  She  understands  this,  and  I  will  it.  I  assure 
you  that  whatever  else  I  lack  it's  not  a  will." 

"  You've  proved  that,  Graham,  if  ever  a  man  did. 
Well,  well,  well,  your  coming  has  brought  a  strange 
and  most  welcome  state  of  affairs.  Somehow  you've 
given  me  a  new  lease  of  life  and  courage.  Of  late 
we've  all  felt  like  hauling  down  the  flag,  and  letting 
grim  death    do   his   worst.     I    couldn't    have    sur- 


ALL   MATERIALISTS.  401 

vived  Grace,  and  didn't  want  to.  Only  plucky  Mrs. 
Mayburn  held  on  to  your  coming  as  a  forlorn  hope. 
You  now  make  me  feel  like  nailing  the  flag  to  the 
staff,  and  opening  again  with  every  gun.  Grace  is 
like  her  mother,  if  I  do  say  it.  Grace  Brentford  never 
lacked  for  suitors,  and  she  had  the  faculty  of  waking 
up  mett.  Forgive  an  old  man's  vanity.  Phil  Hark. 
ness  was  a  little  wild  as  a  young  fellow,  but  he  had 
grand  mettle  in  him.  He  made  more  of  a  figure  in 
the  world  than  I, — was  sent  to  Congress,  owned  a  big 
plantation,  and  all  that, — but  sweet  Grace  Brentford 
always  looked  at  me  reproachfully  when  I  rallied  her 
on  the  mistake  she  had  made,  and  was  contentment 
itself  in  my  rough  soldier's  quarters,"  and  the  old 
man  took  off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  his  tear-dimmed 
eyes.  "  Grace  is  just  like  her.  She,  too,  has  waked 
up  men,  Hilland  was  a  grand  fellow  ;  and,  Graham, 
you  are  a  soldier  every  inch  of  you,  and  that's  the 
highest  praise  I  can  bestow.  You  are  in  command  in 
this  battle,  and  God  be  with  you.  Your  unbelief 
doesn't  affect  Hi7n  any  more  than  a  mole's." 

Graham  laughed — he  could  laugh  in  his  present 
hopefulness — as  he  replied,  "  I  agree  with  you  fully. 
If  there  is  a  personal  Creator  of  the  universe,  I  cer- 
tainly am  a  small  object  in  it." 

"  That's  not  what  I've  been  taught  to  believe 
either  ;  nor  is  it  according  to  my  reason.  An  infinite 
God  could  give  as  much  attention  to  you  as  to  the 
solar  system." 

"  From  the  present  aspect  of  the  world,  a  great 
deal  would  appear  neglected,"  Graham  replied,  with 
a  shrug. 


402         .  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  Come,  Colonel  Graham,"  said  the  major,  a  little 
sharply,  "  you  and  I  have  both  heard  the  rank  and 
file  grumble  over  the  tactics  of  their  general.  It  often 
turned  out  that  the  general  knew  more  than  the  men. 
But  it's  nice  business  for  me  to  be  talking  religion 
to  you  or  any  one  else  ;"  and  the  idea  struck  him 
as  so  comical  that  he  laughed  outright. 

Mrs.  Mayburn,  who  entered  at  that  moment,  said, 
"  That's  a  welcome  sound.  I  can't  remember,  Major, 
when  I've  heard  you  laugh.  Alford,  you  are  a  magi- 
cian.    Grace  is  sleeping  quietly." 

"  Little  wonder  !  What  have  I  had  to  laugh 
about?"  said  the  major.  "But  melancholy  itself 
would  laugh  at  my  joke  to-night.  Would  you 
believe  it,  I've  been  talking  religion  to  the  Colonel,  if 
I  haven't." 

"  I  think  it's  time  religion  was  talked  to  all  of  us." 

"  O,  now,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  don't  you  begin. 
You  haven't  any  God  any  more  than  Graham  has. 
You  have  a  jumble  of  old-fashioned  theological  attri- 
butes, that  are  of  no  more  practical  use  to  you  than 
the  doctrines  of  Aristotle.  Please  ring  for  Jinny, 
and  tell  her  to  bring  us  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some 
cake.  I  want  to  drink  to  Grace's  health.  If  I  could 
see  her  smile  again  I'd  fire  a  feu  dej'ote,  if  I  could 
find  any  ordnance  larger  than  a  popgun.  Don't  laugh 
at  me,  friends,"  he  added,  wiping  the  tears  from  his 
dim  old  eyes  ;  "  but  the  bare  thought  that  Grace  will 
live  to  bless  my  last  few  days  almost  turns  my  head. 
Where  is  Dr.  Markham  ?" 

"  He  had  other  patients  to  see,  and  said  he  would 
return  by  and  by,"  Mrs.  Mayburn,  replied. 


ALL   MATERIALISTS.  403 

"  It's  time  we  had  a  little  relief,"  she  continued, 
"whatever  the  future  may  be.  The  slow,  steady- 
pressure  of  anxiety  and  fear  was  becoming  unendur- 
able. I  could  scarcely  have  suffered  more  if  Grace 
had  been  my  own  child;  and  I  feared  for  you,  Alford, 
quite  as  much." 

"  And  with  good  reason,"  he  said,  quietly. 

She  gave  him  a  keen  look,  and  then  did  as  the 
major  had  requested. 

"  Come,  friends,"  cried  he,  "  let  us  give  up  this 
evening  to  hope  and  cheer.  Let  what  will  come 
on  the  morrow,  we'll  have  at  least  one  more  gleam 
of  wintry  sunshine  to-day." 

Filling  the  glasses  of  all  with  his  trembling 
hand,  he  added,  when  they  were  alone,  "  Here's  to 
my  darling's  health.  May  the  good  God  spare  her, 
and  spare  us  all,  to  see  brighter  days.  Because  I'm 
not  good,  is  no  reason  why  He  isn't." 

"Amen!"  cried  the  old  lady,  with  Methodistic 
fervor. 

"  What  are  you  saying  amen  to? — that  I'm  not 
good  ?" 

"  O,  I  imagine  we  all  average  about  alike,"  was 
her  grim  reply, — "  the  more  shame  to  us  all !" 

"  Dear,  conscience-stricken  old  aunty  !"  said  Gra- 
ham, smiling  at  her.  "  Will  nothing  ever  lay  your 
theological  ghosts  ?" 

"  No,  Alford,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  Let  us  change 
the  subject." 

"  I've  told  Major  St.  John  everything  from  the 
day  I  first  came  here, ' '  Graham  explained  ;  ' '  and  now 
before  we  separate   let  it   be    understood  that   he 


404  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

joins  us  as  a  powerful  ally.  His  Influence  over  Grace, 
after  all,  is  more  potent  than  that  of  all  the  rest  of  us 
united.  My  words  to-night  have  acted  more  like  a 
shock  than  anything  else.  I  have  placed  before  her 
clearly  and  sharply  the  consequences  of  yielding  pas- 
sively, and  of  drifting  farther  toward  darkness.  We 
must  possess  ourselves  with  an  almost  infinite  pa- 
tience and  vigilance.  She,  after  all,  must  bear  the 
brunt  of  this  fight  with  death  ;  but  we  must  be  ever 
on  hand  to  give  her  support,  and  it  must  be  given 
also  unobtrusively,  with  all  the  tact  we  possess.  We 
can  let  her  see  that  we  are  more  cheerful  in  our 
renewed  hope,  but  we  must  be  profoundly  sympa- 
thetic and  considerate." 

"  Well,  Graham,  as  I  said  before,  you  are  cap- 
tain. I  learned  to  obey  orders  long  ago,  as  well  as 
to  give  them  ;"  and  the  major  summoned  his  valet 
and  bade  them  good-night. 

Graham,  weary  in  the  reaction  from  his  intense 
feeling  and  excitement,  threw  himself  on  the  sofa, 
and  his  aunt  came  and  sat  beside  him. 

"Alford,"  she  said,  "what  an  immense  change 
your  coming  has  made  !" 

"  The  beginning  of  a  change,  I  hope." 

'*  It  was  time, — it  was  time.  A  drearier  household 
could  scarcely  be  imagined.  O,  how  dreary  life 
can  become  !  Grace  was  dying.  Every  day  I  ex- 
pected tidings  of  your  death.  It's  a  miracle  that 
you  are  alive  after  all  these  bloody  years.  All  zest 
in  living  had  departed  from  the  major.  We  are  all 
materialists,  after  our  own  fashion,  wholly  depend- 
ent on  earthly  things,  and  earthly  things  were  failing 


ALL  MATERIALISTS.  405 

US.  In  losing  Grace,  you  and  the  major  would  have 
lost  everything  ;  so  would  I  in  losing  you.  Alford, 
you  have  become  a  son  to  me.  Would  you  break  a 
mother's  heart  ?  Can  you  not  still  promise  to  live 
and  do  your  best  ?" 

"  Dear  aunt,  we  shall  all  live  and  do  our  best." 
"  Is  that  the  best  you  can  say,  Alford  ?" 
"  Aunty,  there  are  limitations  to  the  strength  of 
every  man.  I  have  reached  the  boundary  of  mine. 
From  the  time  I  began  the  struggle  in  the  Vermont 
woods,  and  all  through  my  exile,  I  fought  this  pas- 
sion. I  hesitated  at  no  danger,  and  the  wilder  and 
more  desolate  the  region,  the  greater  were  its  attrac- 
tions to  me.  I  sought  to  occupy  my  mind  with  all 
that  was  new  and  strange  ;  but  such  was  my 
nature  that  this  love  became  an  inseparable  part  of 
my  being.  I  might  just  as  well  have  said  I  would 
forget  my  sad  childhood,  the  studies  that  have  inter- 
ested me,  your  kindness.  I  might  as  well  have 
decreed  that  I  should  not  look  the  same  and  be  the 
same, — that  all  my  habits  of  thought  and  traits  of 
character  should  not  be  my  own.  Imagine  that  a  tree 
in  your  garden  had  will  and  intelligence.  Could  it 
ignore  the  law  of  its  being,  all  the  long  years  which 
had  made  it  what  it  is,  and  decide  to  be  some  other 
kind  of  tree,  totally  different  ?  A  man  who  from  child- 
hood has  had  many  interests,  many  affections,  loses, 
no  doubt,  a  sort  of  concentration  when  the  one 
supreme  love  of  his  Hfe  takes  possession  of  him.  If 
Grace  lives,  and  I  can  see  that  she  has  at  last  tran- 
quilly and  patiently  accepted  her  lot,  you  will  find 
that    I  can  be   tranquil  and  patient.     If  she  dies, 


406  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

I  feel  that  I  shall  break  utterly.  I  can't  look 
into  the  abyss  that  her  grave  would  open.  Do  not 
think  that  I  would  consciously  and  deliberately 
become  a  vulgar  suicide, — I  hope  1  long  since  passed 
that  point,  and  love  and  respect  for  you  forbid  the 
thought, — but  the  long  strain  that  I  have  been  under, 
and  the  dominating  influence  of  my  life,  would 
culminate,  I  should  give  way  like  a  man  before  a 
cold,  deadly  avalanche.  I  have  been  frank  with 
you,  for  in  my  profound  gratitude  for  your  love  and 
kindness  I  would  not  have  you  misunderstand  me, 
or  think  for  a  moment  that  I  proposed  deliberately 
to  forget  you  in  my  own  trouble.  The  truth  is  just 
this,  aunt  :  I  have  not  strength  enough  to  endure 
Grace  Hilland's  death.  It  would  be  such  a  lame, 
dreary,  impotent  conclusion  that  I  should  sink  under 
it,  as  truly  as  a  man  who  found  himself  in  the  sea 
weighted  by  a  ton  of  lead.  But  don't  let  us  dwell  on 
this  thought.  I  truly  believe  that  Grace  will  live,  if 
we  give  her  all  the  aid  she  requires.  If  she  honestly 
makes  the  effort  to  live, — as  she  will,  I  feel  sure, — she 
can  scarcely  help  living  when  the  conditions  of  life 
are  supplied." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you,  Alford,"  said  the  old 
lady,  musingly  ;  "  and  yet  your  attitude  seems  a 
strange  one." 

"  It's  not  an  unnatural  one.  I  am  what  I  have 
been  growing  to  be  all  these  years.  I  can  trace  the 
sequence  of  cause  and  effect  until  this  moment." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  old  lady,  grimly,  "  Grace 
must  live,  if  it  be  in  the  power  of  human  will  and 
effort  to  save  her.     Would  that  I  had  the  faith  in 


ALL  MATERIALISTS.  407 

God  that  I  ought  to  have  !  But  He  is  afar  off,  and 
He  acts  in  accordance  with  an  infinite  wisdom  that 
I  can't  understand.  The  happiness  of  His  creatures 
seems  a  very  secondary  affair." 

'*  Now,  aunty,  we  are  on  ground  where  we  differ 
theoretically,  to  say  the  least  ;  but  I  accord  to  you 
full  right  to  think  what  you  please,  because  I  know 
you  will  employ  all  the  natural  and  rational  expedi- 
ents of  a  skilful  nurse." 

"■  Yes,  Alford  ;  you  and  Grace  only  make  me  un- 
happy when  you  talk  in  that  way.  I  know  you  are 
wrong,  just  as  certainly  as  the  people  who  believed 
the  sun  moved  round  the  earth.  The  trouble  is  that 
I  know  it  only  with  the  same  cold  mental  conviction, 
and  therefore  can  be  of  no  help  to  either  of  you. 
Pardon  me  for  my  bluntness  :  do  you  expect  to 
marry  Grace,  should  she  become  strong  and 
well?" 

"  No,  I  can  scarcely  say  I  have  any  such  hope. 
It  is  a  thought  I  do  not  even  entertain  at  present, 
nor  does  she.  I  am  content  to  be  her  friend  through 
life,  and  am  convinced  that  she  could  not  think  of 
marriage  again  for  years,  if  ever.  That  is  a  matter 
of  secondary  importance.  All  that  I  ask  is  that  she 
shall  live." 

Well,  compared  with  most  men,  a  very  little  con- 
tents you,"  said  his  aunt  dryly.  "  We  shall  see,  we 
shall  see.  But  you  have  given  me  such  an  incentive 
that,  were  it  possible,  I'd  open  my  old  withered  veins 
and  give  her  half  of  my  poor  blood." 

"  Dear  aunty,  how  true  and  stanch  your  love  is  ! 
I  cannot  believe  it  will  be  disappointed." 


4o8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  my  post  now,  nor  shall  I  leave 
it  very  often." 

"  Here  is  Dr.  Markham.  He  will  see  that  you 
leave  it  often  enough  to  maintain  your  own  health, 
and  I  will  too.  I've  been  a  soldier  too  long  to  per- 
mit my  chief  of  staff  to  be  disabled.  Pardon  me, 
doctor,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  this  is  more  of 
a  case  for  nursing  and  nourishment  than  for  drugs." 

"  You  are  right,  and  yet  a  drug  can  also  become  a 
useful  ally.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  more  a  case  for 
change  than  anything  else.  When  Mrs.  Hilland  is 
strong  enough,  you  must  take  her  from  this  atmos- 
phere and  these  associations.  In  a  certain  sense  she 
must  begin  life  over  again,  and  take  root  elsewhere." 

"  There  may  be  truth  in  what  you  say  ;"  and 
Graham  was  merged  in  deep  thought  when  he  was 
left  alone.  The  doctor,  in  passing  out  a  few  moments 
later,  assured  him  that  all  promised  well. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE    EFFORT    TO    LIVE. 

AS  Graham  had  said,  it  did  seem  that  infinite 
patience  and  courage  would  be  required  to 
defeat  the  dark  adversaries  now  threatening  the  life 
upon  which  he  felt  that  his  own  depended.  He 
had  full  assurance  that  Grace  made  her  promised 
effort,  but  it  was  little  more  than  an  effort  of  will, 
dictated  by  a  sense  of  duty.  She  had  lost  her  hold 
on  life,  which  to  her  enfeebled  mind  and  body 
promised  little  beyond  renewed  weariness  and  dis- 
appointment. How  she  could  live  again  in  any 
proper  sense  of  the  word  was  beyond  her  compre- 
hension ;  and  what  was  bare  existence  ?  It  would 
be  burdensome  to  herself  and  become  wearisome  to 
others.  The  mind  acts  through  its'  own  natural 
medium,  and  all  the  light  that  came  to  her  was  col- 
ored by  almost  despairing  memories. 

Too  little  allowance  is  often  made  for  those  in  her 
condition.  The  strong  man  smiles  half- contemptu- 
ously at  the  efforts  of  one  who  is  feeble  to  lift  a 
trifling  weight  Still,  he  is  charitable.  He  knows 
that  if  the  man  has  not  the  muscle,  all  is  explained. 
So  material  are  the  conceptions  of  many  that  they 


4IO  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS 

have  no  patience  with  those  who  have  been  enfee- 
bled in  mind,  will,  and  courage.  Such  persons  would 
say,  "  Of  course  Mrs.  Hilland  cannot  attend  to  her 
household  as  before  ;  but  she  ought  to  have  faith, 
resignation  ;  she  ought  to  make  up  her  mind  cheer- 
fully to  submit,  and  she  would  soon  be  well.  Great 
heavens  !  haven't  other  women  lost  their  husbands  ? 
Yes,  indeed,  and  they  worried  along  quite  comfort- 
ably." 

Graham  took  no  such  superficial  view.  "  Other 
women"  were  not  Grace.  He  was  philosophical, 
and  tried  to  estimate  the  effect  of  her  own  peculiar 
experience  on  her  own  nature,  and  was  not  guilty 
of  the  absurdity  of  generalizing.  It  was  his  prob- 
lem to  save  Grace  as  she  was,  and  not  as  some  good 
people  said  she  ought  to  be.  Still,  his  firm  belief 
remained,  that  she  could  live  if  she  would  comply 
with  what  he  believed  to  be  the  conditions  of  life  ; 
indeed,  that  she  could  scarcely  help  living.  If  the 
time  could  come  when  her  brain  would  be  nourished 
by  an  abundance  of  healthful  blood,  he  might  hope 
for  almost  anything.  She  would  then  be  able  to 
view  the  past  dispassionately,  to  recognize  that  what 
was  past  was  gone  forever,  and  to  see  the  folly  of  a 
grief  which  wasted  the  present'  and  the  future.  If 
she  never  became  strong  enough  for  that — and  the 
prospect  was  only  a  faint,  half-acknowledged  hope 
— then  he  would  reverently  worship  a  patient,  gen- 
tle, white-haired  woman,  who  should  choose  her 
own  secluded  path,  he  being  content  to  make  it  as 
smooth  and  thornless  as  possible. 

Beyond  a  brief  absence  at  the  time  his  regiment 


THE  EFFORT  TO  LIVE.  411 

was  mustered  out  of  the  service  he  was  always  at 
home,  and  the  allies  against  death — with  their  sev- 
eral hopes,  wishes,  and  interests — worked  faithfully. 
At  last  there  was  a  more  decided  response  in  the 
patient.  Her  sleep  became  prolonged,  as  if  she 
were  making  amends  for  the  weariness  of  years. 
Skilful  tonic  treatment  told  on  the  wasted  form. 
New  blood  was  made,  and  that  in  Graham's  creed 
was  new  life. 

His  materialistic  theory,  however,  was  far  re- 
moved from  any  gross  conception  of  the  problem. 
He  did  not  propose  to  feed  a  woman  into  a  new 
and  healthful  existence,  except  as  he  fed  what  he 
deemed  to  be  her  whole  nature.  In  his  idea,  flow- 
ers, beauty  in  as  many  forms  as  he  could  command 
and  she  enjoy  at  the  time,  were,  essential.  He  ran 
sacked  nature  in  his  walks  for  things  to  interest  her. 
He  brought  her  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  taught 
her  to  distnguish  the  different  birds  by  their  notes. 
He  had  Mrs.  Mayburn  talk  to  her  and  consult  with 
her  over  the  homely  and  wholesome  details  of  house- 
keeping. Much  of  the  news  of  the  day  was  brought 
to  her  attention  as  that  which  should  naturally  in- 
terest her,  especially  the  reconstruction  of  the 
South,  as  represented  and  made  definite  by  the  ex- 
perience of  Henry  Anderson  and  his  sister.  He 
told  her  that  he  had  bought  at  a  nominal  sum  a 
large  plantation  in  the  vicinity  of  the  parsonage,  and 
that  Colonel  Anderson  should  be  his  agent,  with  the 
privilege  of  buying  at  no  more  of  an  advance  than 
would  satisfy  the  proud  young  Southerner's  self- 
respect. 


412  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Thus  from  every  side  he  sought  to  bring  natural 
and  healthful  influences  to  bear  upon  her  mind,  to 
interest  her  in  life  at  every  point  where  it  touched 
her,  and  to  reconnect  the  broken  threads  which  had 
bound  her  to  the  world. 

He  was  aided  earnestly  and  skilfully  on  all  sides. 
Their  success,  however,  was  discouragingly  slow.  In 
her  weakness  Grace  made  pathetic  attempts  to  re- 
spond, but  not  from  much  genuine  interest.  As  she 
grew  stronger  her  manner  toward  her  father  was 
more  like  that  of  her  former  self  than  was  the  rest 
of  her  conduct.  Almost  as  if  from  the  force  of 
habit,  she  resumed  her  thoughtful  care  for  his  com- 
fort ;  but  beyond  that  there  seemed  to  be  an  apa- 
thy, an  indifference,  a  dreary  preoccupation  hard  to 
combat. 

In  Graham's  presence  she  would  make  visible 
effort  to  do  all  he  wished,  but  it  was  painfully  visi- 
ble, and  sometimes  she  would  recognize  his  unob- 
trusive attentions  with  a  smile  that  was  sadder  than 
any  words  could  be.  One  day  she  seemed  almost 
wholly  free  from  the  deep  apathy  that  was  becom- 
ing characteristic,  and  she  said  to  him,  "  Alas,  my 
friend  !  as  I  said  to  you  at  first,  the  woman  is  dead 
within  me.  My  body  grows  stronger,  as  the  result 
of  the  skill  and  help  you  all  are  bringing  to  bear  on 
my  sad  problem,  but  my  heart  is  dead,  and  my  hope 
takes  no  hold  on  life.  I  cannot  overcome  the  feel- 
ing that  I  am  a  mere  shadow,  and  have  no  right  to 
be  here  among  the  living.  You  are  so  brave,  pa- 
tient, and  faithful  that  I  am  ever  conscious  of  a  sort 
of  dull  remorse  ;  but  there  is  a  weight  on  my  brain 


THE  EFFORT  TO  LIVE.  413 

and  a  despairing  numbness  at  my  heart,  making 
everything  seem  vain  and  unreal.  Please  do  not 
blame  me.  Asking  me  to  feel  is  like  requiring  sight 
of  the  blind.  I've  lost  the  faculty.  I  have  suffered 
so  much  that  I  have  become  numb,  if  not  dead. 
The  shadows  of  the  past  mingle  with  the  shadows  of 
to-day.  Only  you  seem  real  in  your  strong,  vain 
effort,  and  as  far  as  I  can  suffer  any  more  it  pains 
me  to  see  you  thus  waste  yourself  on  a  hopeless 
shadow  of  a  woman.  I  told  you  I  should  disappoint 
you." 

"  I  am  not  wasting  myself,  Grace.  Remain  a 
shadow  till  you  can  be  more.  I  will  bear  my  part 
of  the  burden,  if  you  will  be  patient  with  yours. 
Won't  you  believe  that  I  am  infinitely  happier  in 
caring  for  you  as  you  are  than  I  should  be  if  I  could 
not  thus  take  your  hand  and  express  to  you  my 
thought,  my  sympathy  ?  Dear  Grace,  the  causes 
which  led  to  your  depression  were  strong  and  terri- 
ble. Should  we  expect  them  to  be  counteracted  in 
a  few  short  weeks  ?" 

"Alas,  Alford  !  is  there  any  adequate  remedy? 
Forgive  me  for  saying  this  to  you,  and  yet  you,  of 
all  people,  can  understand  me  best.  You  cling  to 
me  who  should  be  nothing  to  a  man  of  your  power 
and  force.  You  say  you  cannot  go  on  in  life  with- 
out me,  even  as  a  weak,  dependent  friend, — that 
you  would  lose  all  zest,  incentive,  and  interest  ;  for 
I  cannot  think  you  mean  more.  If  you  feel  in  this 
way  toward  me,  who  in  the  eyes  of  other  men  would 
be  a  dismal  burden,  think  how  Warren  dwells  in  my 
memory,  what  he  was  to  me,  how  his  strong  sunny 


414  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

nature  was  the  sun  of  my  life.  Do  you  not  see  you 
are  asking  of  me  what  you  say  you  could  not  do 
yourself,  although  you  would,  after  your  own  brave, 
manly  fashion  ?  But  your  own  belief  should  teach 
you  the  nature  of  my  task  when  you  ask  me  to  go 
on  and  take  up  life  again,  from  which  I  was  torn 
more  completely  than  the  vine  which  falls  with  the 
tree  to  which  it  clung." 

"  Dear  Grace,  do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  I 
am  not  always  gratefully  conscious  of  the  immense 
self-sacrifice  you  are  making  for  me  and  others. 
You  long  for  rest  and  forgetfulness,  and  yet  you 
know  well  that  your  absence  would  leave  an  abyss 
of  despair.  You  now  add  so  much  to  the  comfort 
of  your  father  !  Mrs.  Mayburn  clings  to  you  \vith 
all  the  love  of  a  mother.  And  I,  Grace,' — what  else 
can  I  do  ?  Even  your  frail,  sad  presence  is  more  to 
me  than  the  sun  in  the  sky.  Is  it  pure  selfishness 
on  my  part  to  wish  to  keep  you  ?  Time,  the  healer, 
will  gradually  bring  to  you  rest  from  pain,  and 
serenity  to  us  all.  When  you  are  stronger  I  will 
take  you  to  Hilland's  grave — " 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  she  cried,  almost  passionately. 
"  Why  should  I  go  there  ?  O,  this  is  the  awful  part 
of  it  !  What  I  so  loved  has  become  nothing,  worse 
than  nothing- -that  from  which  I  shrink  as  some- 
thing horrible.  O,  Alford,  why  are  we  endowed 
with  such  natures  if  corruption  is  to  be  the  end  ?  It 
is  this  thought  that  paralyzes  me.  It  seerns  as  if 
pure,  unselfish  love  is  singled  out  for  the  most  dia- 
bolical punishment.  To  think  that  a  form  which 
has  become  sacred  to  you  may  be  put  away  at  any 


THE  EFFORT  TO  LIVE.  415 

moment  as  a  horrible  and  unsightly  thing  !  and  that 
such  should  be  the  end  of  the  noblest  devotion  of 
which  man  is  capable  !  My  whole  being  revolts  at 
it  ;  and  yet  how  can  I  escape  from  its  truth  ?  I  am 
beset  by  despairing  thoughts  on  every  side  when 
able  to  think  at  all,  and  my  best  remedy  seems  a 
sort  of  dreary  apathy,  in  which  I  do  little  more  than 
breathe.  I  have  read  that  there  comes  a  time  when 
the  tortured  cease  to  feel  much  pain.  There  was  a 
time,  especially  at  the  hospital,  when  I  suffered  con- 
stantly,— when  almost  everything  but  you  suggested 
torturing  thoughts.  1  suffered  with  you  and  for 
you,  but  there  was  always  something  sustaining  in 
your  presence.  There  is  still.  I  should  not  live  a 
month  in  your  absence,  but  it  seems  as  if  it  were 
your  strong  will  that  holds  me,  not  my  own.  You 
have  given  me  the  power,  the  incentive,  to  make 
such  poor  effort  as  I  am  putting  forth.  Moreover, 
in  intent,  you  gave  your  life  for  Warren  again  and 
again,  and  as  long  as  I  have  any  volition  left  I  will 
try  and  do  all  you  wish,  since  you  so  wish  it.  But 
my  hope  is  dead.  I  do  not  see  how  any  more  good 
can  come  to  me  or  through  me." 

"  You  are  still  willing,  however,  to  permit  me  to 
think  for  you,  to  guide  you  ?  You  will  still  use 
your  utmost  effort  to  live  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  can  refuse  to  the  man  who  went  back 
to  my  dying  husband,  nothing  within  my  power  to 
grant.  It  is  indeed  little.  Besides,  I  am  in  your 
care,  but  I  fear  I  shall  prove  a  sad,  if  not  a  fatal 
legacy. ' ' 

"  Of  that,  dear  Grace,  you  must  permit  me  to  be 


41 6  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

the  judge.  All  that  you  have  said  only  adds 
strength  to  my  purpose.  Does  not  the  thought  that 
you  are  doing  so  very  much  for  me  and  for  all  who 
love  you  bring  some  solace  ?" 

"  It  should.  But  what  have  I  brought  you  but 
pain  and  deep  anxiety  ?  O  Alford,  Alford  !  you 
will  waken  some  bitter  day  to  the  truth  that  you 
love  but  the  wraith  of  the  girl  who  unconsciously  won 
your  heart.  You  have  idealized  her,  and  the  being 
you  now  love  does  not  exist.  How  can  I  let  you 
go  on  thus  wronging  yourself  ?" 

"  Grace,"  replied  he,  gravely  and  almost  sternly, 
"  I  learned  in  the  northern  woods,  among  the  fiords 
of  Norway,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Himalayas,  and 
in  my  long,  lonely  hours  in  the  war,  whom  I  loved, 
and  why  I  loved  her.  I  made  every  effort  at  forget- 
fulness  that  I,  at  least,  was  capable  of  exerting,  and 
never  forgot  for  an  hour.  Am  I  a  sentimental  boy, 
that  you  should  talk  to  me  in  this  way  ?  Let  us 
leave  that  question  as  settled  for  all  time.  More- 
over, never  entertain  the  thought  that  I  am  plan- 
ning and  hoping  for  the  future.  I  see  in  your  affec- 
tion for  me  only  a  pale  reflection  of  your  love  for 
Hilland." 

"  No,  Alford,  I  love  you  for  your  own  sake. 
How  tenderly  you  have  ever  spoken  of  little  Rita 
Anderson,  and  yet — " 

"  And  yet,  as  I  have  told  you  more  than  once, 
the  thought  of  loving  her  never  entered  my  mind. 
I  could  plan  for  her  happiness  as  I  would  for  a  sis- 
ter, had  I  one." 

"  Therefore  you  can  interpret  me." 


THE  EFFORT  TO  LIVE.  417 

**  Therefore  I  have  interpreted  you,  and,  from 
the  first,  have  asked  for  nothing  more  than  that  you 
still  make  one  of  our  little  circle,  each  member  of 
which  would  be  sadly  missed,  you  most  of  all." 

"  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do  so  little  as  that  for  you. 
Indeed,  I  am  trying." 

"  I  know  you  are,  and,  as  you  succeed,  you  will 
see  that  I  am  content.  Do  not  feel  that  when  I  am 
present  you  must  struggle  and  make  unwonted 
effort.  The  tidejs  setting  toward  life  ;  float  gently 
on  with  it.  Do  not  try  to  force  nature.  Let  time 
and  rest  daily  bring  their  imperceptible  healing. 
The  war  is  over.  I  now  have  but  one  object  in  life, 
and  if  you  improve  I  shall  come  and  go  and  do  some 
man's  work  in  the  world.  My  plantation  in  Vir- 
ginia will  soon  give  me  plenty  of  wholesome  out-of- 
door  thoughts." 

She  gave  him  one  of  her  sad  smiles  as  she  replied 
wearily,  **  You  set  "me  a  good  example." 

This  frank  interchange  of  thought  appeared  at 
first  to  have  a  good  effect  on  Grace,  and  brought 
something  of  the  rest  which  comes  from  submission 
to  the  inevitable.  She  found  that  Graham's  pur- 
pose was  as  immovable  as  the  hills,  and  at  the  ^me 
time  was  more  absolutely  convinced  that  he  was  not 
looking  forward  to  what  seemed  an  impossible 
future.  Nor  did  he  ask  that  her  effort  should  be 
one  of  feeble  struggles  to  manifest  an  interest  Tdc- 
fore  him  which  she  did  not  feel.  She  yielded  to 
her  listlessness  and  apathy  to  a  degree  that  alarmed 
her  father  and  Mrs.  Mayburn,  but  Graham  said  : 
"  It's  the  course  of  nature.     After  such  prolonged 


4i8  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

suffering,  both  body  and  mind  need  this  lethargy. 
Reaction  from  one  extreme  to  another  might  be  ex 
pected." 

Dr.  Markham  agreed  in  the  main  with  this  view, 
and  yet  there  was  a  sHght  contraction  of  perplexity 
on  his  brows  as  he  added  :  "I  should  not  like  to  see 
this  tendency  increase  beyond  a  certain  point,  or 
continue  too  long.  From  the  first  shock  of  her  be- 
reavement Mrj>  Hilland's  mind  has  not  been  exactly 
in  a  normal  condition.  There  are  phases  of  her 
trouble  difiicult  to  account  for  and  dilTficult  to  treat. 
The  very  fineness  of  her  organization  made  the 
terrible  shock  more  serious  in  its  injury.  I  do  not 
say  this  to  discourage  you, — far  from  it, — but  in 
sincerity  I  must  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
every  new  phase  of  her  grief  has  tended  to  some  ex- 
treme manifestation,  showing  a  disposition  toward, 
not  exactly  mental  weakness,  but  certainly  an  ab- 
normal mental  condition.  I  speak  of  this  that  you 
may  intelligently  guard  against  it.  If  due  precau- 
tion is  used,  the  happy  mean  between  these  reac- 
tions may  be  reached,  and  both  mind  and  body 
recover  a  healthful  tone.  I  advise  that  you  all  seek 
some  resort  by  the  sea,  a  new  one,  without  any 
associations  with  the  past." 

Within  a  few  days  they  were  at  a  seaside  inn,  a 
large  one  whose  very  size  offered  seclusion.  From 
their  wide  and  lofty  balconies  they  could  watch  the 
world  come  and  go  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land  ;  and 
the  world  was  too  large  and  too  distant  for  close 
scrutiny  or  petty  gossip.  They  could  have  their 
meals  in  their  rooms,  or  in  the  immense  dining-hall, 


THE  EFFORT   TO  LIVE.  419 

as  they  chose  ;  and  in  the  latter  place  the  quiet 
party  would  scarcely  attract  a  second  glance  from 
the  young,  gay,  and  sensation-loving.  Their  tran- 
sient gaze  would  see  two  old  ladies,  one  an  invalid, 
an  old  and  crippled  man,  and  one  much  younger, 
who  evidently  would  never  take  part  in  a  german. 

It  was  thought  and  hoped  that  this  nearness  to 
the  complex  world,  with  the  consciousness  that  it 
could  not  approach  her  to  annoy  and  pry,  might 
tend  to  awaken  in  Grace  a  passing  interest  in  its 
many  phases.  She  could  see  without  feeling  that 
she  was  scanned  and  surmised  about,  as  is  too  often 
the  case  in  smaller  houses  wherein  the  guests  are 
not  content  until  they  have  investigated  all  new- 
comers. 

But  Grace  disappointed  her  friends.  She  was  as 
indifferent  to  the  world  about  her  as  the  world  was 
to  her.  At  first  she  was  regarded  as  a  quiet  invalid, 
and  scarcely  noticed.  The  sea  seemed  to  interest 
her  more  than  all  things  else,  and,  if  uninterrupted, 
she  would  sit  and  gaze  at  its  varying  aspects  for 
hours. 

According  to  Graham's  plan,  she  was  permitted, 
with  little  interference,  to  follow  her  mood.  Mrs. 
Mayburn  was  like  a  watchful  mother,  the  major 
much  his  former  self,  for  his  habits  were  too  fixed 
for  radical  changes.  Grace  would  quietly  do  any- 
thing he  asked,  but  she  grew  more  forgetful  and  in- 
attentive, coming  out  o'f  her  deep  abstraction — if 
such  it  could  be  termed — with  increasing  effort. 
With  Graham  she  seemed  more  content  than  with 
any   one    else.     With    him    she   took    lengthening 


420  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

walks  on  the  beach.  He  sat  quietly  beside  her 
while  she  watched  the  billows  chasing  each  other  to 
the  shore.  Their  swift  onset,  their  defeat,  over 
which  they  appeared  to  foam  in  wrath,  their  back- 
ward and  disheartened  retreat,  ever  seemed  to  tell 
her  in  some  dim  way  a  story  of  which  she  never 
wearied.  Often  she  would  turn  and  look  at  him 
with  a  vague  trouble  in  her  face,  as  if  faintly  remem- 
bering something  that  was  a  sorrow  to  them  both  ; 
but  his  reassuring  smile  quieted  her,  and  she  would 
take  his  hand  as  a  little  child  might  have  done,  and 
sit  for  an  hour  without  removing  her  eyes  from  the 
waves.  He  waited  patiently  day  after  day,  week 
after  week,  reiterating  to  himself,  "  She  will  waken, 
she  will  remember  all,  and  then  will  have  strength 
and  calmness  to  meet  it.  This  is  nature's  long 
repose." 

It  was  growing  strangely  long  and  deep. 

Meanwhile  Grace,  in  her  outward  appearance, 
was  undergoing  a  subtle  change.  Graham  was  the 
first  to  observe  it,  and  at  last  it  was  apparent  to  all. 
As  her  mind  became  inert,  sleeping  on  a  downy 
couch  of  forgetfulness,  closely  curtained,  the  silent 
forces  of  physical  life,  in  her  deep  tranquillity,  were 
doing  an  artist's  work.  The  hollow  cheeks  were 
gradually  rounded  and  given  the  faintest  possible 
bloom.  Her  form  was  gaining  a  contour  that  might 
satisfy  a  sculptor's  dream. 

The  major  had  met  old  friends,  and  it  was  whis- 
pered about  who  they  were, — the  widow  of  a  mil- 
lionnaire  ;  Colonel  Graham,  one  of  the  most  dash- 
ing cavalry  officers  in  the  war  which  was  still  in  all 


THE  EFFORT   TO   LIVE.  421 

minds  ;  Major  St.  John,  a  veteran  soldier  of  the 
regular  service,  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  con- 
quest of  Mexico,  and  who  was  well  and  honorably- 
known  to  the  chief  dignitaries  of  the  former  genera- 
tion. Knowing  all  this,  the  quidnuncs  complacently 
felt  at  first  that  they  knew  all.  The  next  thing  was 
to  know  the  people.  This  proved  to  be  difficult  in- 
deed. The  major  soon  found  a  few  veteran  cronies 
at  whist,  but  by  others  was  more  unapproachable 
than  a  major-general  of  the  old  school.  Graham 
was  far  worse,  and  belles  tossed  their  heads  at  the 
idea  that  he  had  ever  been  a  "  dashing  cavalry 
officer"  or  dashing  anything  else.  Before  the  sum- 
mer was  over  the  men  began  to  discover  that  Mrs. 
Hilland  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  house, 
— strangely,  marvellously,  supernaturally  beautiful. 

An  artist,  who  had  found  opportunity  to  watch 
the  poor  unconscious  woman  furtively, — not  so 
furtively  either  but  that  any  belle  in  the  hostelry 
would  know  all  about  it  in  half  a  minute, — raved 
about  the  combination  of  charms  he  had  discovered. 

"Just  imagine,"  he  said,  "what  a  picture  she 
made  as  she  sat  alone  on  the  beach  !  She  was  so 
remarkable  in  her  appearance  that  one  might  think 
she  had  arisen  from  the  sea,  and  was  not  a  creature 
of  the  earth.  Her  black,  close-fitting  dress  sug- 
gested the  form  of  Aphrodite  as  she  rose  from  the 
waves.  Her  profile  was  almost  faultless  in  its  ex- 
quisite lines.  Her  complexion,  with  just  a  slight 
warm  tinge  imparted  by  the  breeze,  had  not  the 
cold,  dead  white  of  snow,  but  the  clear  transpar- 
ency which   good  aristocratic  blood  imparts.     But 


42  2  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

her  eyes  and  hair  were  her  crowning  features.  How 
shall  I  describe  the  deep,  dreamy  languor  of  her 
large,  dark  eyes,  made  a  hundred-fold  more  effec- 
tive by  the  silvery  whiteness  of  her  hair,  which  had 
partly  escaped  from  her  comb,  and  fell  upon  her 
neck  !  And  then  her  sublime,  tranquil  indiffer- 
ence !  That  I  was  near,  spell-bound  with  admira- 
tion, did  not  interest  her  so  much  as  a  sail,  no  larger 
than  a  gull's  wing,  far  out  at  sea." 

"  Strange,  strange  !"  said  one  of  his  friends, 
laughing  ;  "  her  unconsciousness  of  your  presence 
was  the  strangest  part  of  it  all.  Why  did  you  not 
make  a  sketch  ?" 

"  I  did,  but  that  infernal  Colonel  Graham,  who  Is 
said  to  be  her  shadow, — after  her  million  you 
know,  —  suddenly  appeared  and  asked  sternly, 
'  Have  you  the  lady's  permission  for  this  sketch  ?  * 
I  stammered  about  being  '  so  impressed,  that  in  the 
interests  of  art,'  etc.  He  then  snatched  my  sketch 
and  threw  it  into  the  waves.  Of  course  I  was 
angry,  and  I  suppose  my  words  and  manner  became 
threatening.  He  took  a  step  toward  me,  looking  as 
I  never  saw  a  man  look.  '  Hush,'  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  *  Say  or  do  a  thing  to  annoy  that  lady,  and 
I'll  wring  your  neck  and  toss  you  after  your  sketch. 
Do  you  think  I've  been  through  a  hundred  battles 
to  fear  your  insignificance  ?  '  By  Jove  !  he  looked 
as  if  he  could  do  it  as  easily  as  say  it.  Of  course  I 
was  not  going  to  brawl  before  a  lady." 

"  No  ;  it  wouldn't  have  been  prudent, — I  mean 
gentlemanly,"  remarked  his  bantering  friend. 

"  Well,  laugh  at  me,"  replied  the  young  fellow, 


THE  EFFORT   TO  LIVE.  423 

who  was  as  honest  as  light-hearted  and  vain.  "I'd 
risk  the  chance  of  having  my  neck  wrung  for  an- 
other ghmpse  at  such  marvellous  beauty.  Would 
you  believe  it  ?  the  superb  creature  never  so  much 
as  once  turned  to  glance  at  us.  She  left  me  to  her 
attendant  as  completely  as  if  he  were  removing  an 
annoying  insect.  Heavens  !  but  it  was  the  perfec- 
tion of  high  breeding.  But  I  shall  have  my  re- 
venge :  I'll  paint  her  yet." 

**  Right,  my  friend,  right  you  are  ;  and  your 
revenge  will  be  terrible.  Her  supernatural  and 
high-bred  nonchalance  will  be  lost  forever  should  she 
see  her  portrait  ;"  and  with  mutual  chaffing,  spiced 
with  good-natured  satire,  as  good-naturedly  re- 
ceived, the  little  party  in  a  smoking-room  separated. 

But  furtive  eyes  soon  relieved  the  artist  from  the 
charge  of  exaggeration.  Thus  far  Grace's  manner  had 
been  ascribed  to  high-bred  reserve  and  the  natural 
desire  for  seclusion  in  her  widowhood.  Now,  how- 
ever, that  attention  was  concentrated  upon  her, 
Graham  feared  that  more  than  her  beauty  would  be 
discovered. 

He  himself  also  longed  inexpressibly  to  hide  his 
new  phase  of  trouble  from  the  chattering  throng  of 
people  who  were  curious  to  know  about  them.  To 
know  ?  As  if  they  could  know  !  They  might  bet- 
ter sit  down  to  gossip  over  the  secrets  of  the  differ- 
ential and  the  integral  calculus. 

But  he  saw  increasing  evidences  that  they  were 
becoming  objects  of  "  interest,"  and  the  beautiful 
millionnaire  widow  "very  interesting,"  as  it  was 
phrased  ;  and  he  knew  that  there  is  no  curiosity  so 


424  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

penetrating  as  that  of  the  fashionable  world  when 
once  it  is  aroused,  and  the  game  deemed  worthy  of 
pursuit. 

People  appeared  from  Washington  who  had 
known  Lieutenant-Colonel  Hilland  and  heard  some- 
thing of  Graham,  and  the  past  was  being  ferreted 
out.  '*  Her  hair  had  turned  white  from  grief  in  a 
night,"  it  was  confidently  affirmed. 

Poor  Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  thought, 
"  I  shall  never  be  the  cause  of  my  wife's  hair  turn- 
ing white,  unless  I  may,  in  the  future,  prevent  her 
from  dyeing  it." 

After  all,  sympathy  was  not  very  deep.  It  was 
generally  concluded  that  Colonel  Graham  would 
console  her,  and  one  lady  of  elegant  leisure,  proud 
of  her  superior  research,  declared  that  she  had  seen 
the  colonel  "  holding  Mrs.  Hilland's  hand,"  as  they 
s^t  in  a  secluded  angle  of  the  rocks. 

Up  to  a  certain  time  it  was  comparatively  easy  to 
shield  Grace  ;  but  now,  except  as  she  would  turn 
her  large,  dreamy  eyes  and  unresponsive  lips  upon 
those  who  sought  her  acquaintance,  she  was  as  help- 
less as  a  child.  The  major  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  at 
once  acquiesced  in  Graham's  wish  to  depart. 
Within  a  day  or  two  the  gossips  found  that  their 
prey  had  escaped,  and  Grace  was  once  more  in  her 
cottage  home. 

At  first  she  recognized  familiar  surroundings  with 
a  sigh  of  content.  Then  a  deeply  troubled  look 
flitted  across  her  face  and  she  looked  at  Graham  in- 
quiringly. 

"  What  is  it,  Grace  ?"  he  asked,  gently. 


THE   EFFORT    TO  LIVE.  425 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow,  glanced  around 
once  more,  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  went  to  her 
room  to  throw  off  her  wraps. 

They  all  looked  at  one  another  with  consterna- 
tion. Hitherto  they  had  tried  to  be  dumb  and 
blind,  each  hiding  the  growing  and  awful  conviction 
that  Grace  was  drifting  away  from  them  almost  as 
surely  as  if  she  had  died. 

"Something  must  be  done  at  once,"  said  prac- 
tical Mrs.  Mayburn. 

*'  I  have  telegraphed  for  Dr.  Markham,"  replied 
Graham,  gloomily.  "  Nothing  can  be  done  till  he 
returns.     He  is  away  on  a  distant  trip." 

"  Oh  !"  groaned  the  old  major,  "  there  will  be  an 
end  of  me  before  there  is  to  all  this  trouble." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

GRAHAM'S   LAST   SACRIFICE. 

A  TERRIBLE  foreboding  oppressed  Graham. 
Would  Grace  fulfil  her  prediction  and  disap- 
point him,  after  all  ?  Would  she  elude  him,  escape, 
dicy  and  yet  remain  at  his  side,  beautiful  as  a 
dream  ?  O  the  agony  of  possessing  this  perfect 
casket,  remembering  the  jewel  that  had  vanished  ! 
He  had  vowed  to  defeat  his  gloomy  rivals,  Grief 
and  Death,  and  they  were  mocking  him,  giving  the 
semblance  of  what  he  craved  beyond  even  imagined 
perfection,  but  carrying  away  into  their  own  inscru- 
table darkness  the  woman  herself. 

What  was  Grace  ?  —  what  becoming  ?  As  he 
looked  he  thought  of  her  as  a  sculptor's  ideal  em- 
bodied, a  dream  of  beauty  only,  not  a  woman, — as 
the  legend  of  Eve,  who  might,  before  becoming  a 
living  soul,  have  harmonized  with  the  loveliness  of 
her  garden  without  seeing  or  feeling  it. 

He  could  not  think  of  her  mind  as  blotted  out  or 
perverted  ;  he  could  not  conceive  of  it  otherwise 
than  as  corresponding  with  her  outward  symmetry. 
To  his  thought  it  slumbered,  as  her  form  might 
repose  upon  her  couch,  in  a  death-like  trance.     She 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE.  427 

went  and  came  among  them  like  a  somnambulist, 
guided  by  unconscious  instincts,  memories,  and 
habits. 

She  knew  their  voices,  did,  within  limitations,  as 
they  requested  ;  but  when  she  waited  on  her  father 
there  was  a  sad,  mechanical  repetition  of  what  she 
had  done  since  childhood.  Mrs.  Mayburn  found 
her  docile  and  easily  controlled,  and  the  heart- 
stricken  old  lady  was  vigilance  itself. 

Toward  Graham,  however,  her  manner  had  a 
marked  characteristic.  He  was  her  master,  and  she 
a  dumb,  lovely,  unreasoning  creature,  that  looked 
into  his  eyes  for  guidance,  and  gathered  more  from 
his  tones  than  his  words.  Some  faint  consciousness 
of  the  past  had  grown  into  an  instinct  that  to  him 
she  must  look  for  care  and  direction  ;  and  she  never 
thought  of  resisting  his  will.  If  he  read  to  her,  she 
turned  to  him  her  lovely  face,  across  which  not  a 
gleam  of  interest  or  intelligence  would  pass.  If  he 
brought  her  flowers,  she  would  hold  them  until  they 
were  taken  from  her.  She  would  pace  the  garden 
walks  by  his  side,  with  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  by 
the  hour  if  he  wished  it,  sometimes  smiling  faintly 
at  his  gentle  tones,  but  giving  no  proof  that  she  un- 
derstood the  import  of  his  words.  At  Hilland's 
name  only  she  would  start  and  tremble  as  if 
some  deep  chord  were  struck,  which  could  merely 
vibrate  until  its  sounds  were  faint  and  meaning- 
less. 

It  was  deeply  touching  also  to  observe  in  her  sad 
eclipse  how  her  ingrained  refinement  asserted  itself. 
In  all  her  half-conscious  action  there  was  never  a 


428  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

coarse  look  or  word.  She  was  a  rose  without  its 
perfume.  She  was  a  woman  without  a  woman's 
mind  and  heart.  These  had  been  subtracted,  with 
all  the  differences  they  made  ;  otherwise  she  was 
Grace  Hilland. 

Graham  was  profoundly  perplexed  and  distressed. 
The  problem  had  become  too  deep  for  him.  The 
brain,  nourished  by  good  blood,  had  not  brought 
life.  All  his  skill  and  that  of  those  allied  with  him 
had  failed.  The  materialist  had  matter  in  the  per- 
fection of  breathing  outline,  but  where  was  the 
woman  he  loved  ?  How  could  he  reach  her,  how 
make  himself  understood  by  her,  except  as  some 
timid,  docile  creature  responds  to  a  caress  or  a  tone  ? 
His  very  power  over  her  was  terrifying.  It  was 
built  upon  the  instinct,  the  allegiance  that  cannot 
reason  but  is  unquestioning.  Nothing  could  so 
have  daunted  his  hope,  courage,  and  will  as  the  ex- 
quisite being  Grace  had  become,  as  she  looked  up 
to  him  with  her  large,  mild,  trusting  eyes,  from 
which  thought,  intelligence,  and  volition  had  de- 
parted. 

At  last  Dr.  Markham  came,  and  for  several  days 
watched  his  patient  closely,  she  giving  little  heed  to 
his  presence.  They  all  hung  on  his  perturbed  looks 
with  a  painful  anxiety.  For  a  time  he  was  very  ret- 
icent, but  one  day  he  followed  Graham  to  his  quar- 
ters in  Mrs.  Mayburn's  cottage,  where  he  was  now 
much  alone.  Grace  seemed  to  miss  him  but 
slightly,  although  she  always  gave  some  sign  of  wel- 
come on  his  return.  The  mocking  semblance  of  all 
that  he  could  desire  often  so  tantalized  him  that  her 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE.  429 

presence  became  unendurable.  The  doctor  found 
him  pacing  his  room  in  a  manner  betokening  his 
half-despairing  perplexity. 

"  Colonel  Graham,"  he  said,  "  shall  I  surprise  you 
when  I  say  physicians  are  very  fallible  ?  I  know 
that  it  is  not  the  habit  of  the  profession  to  admit 
this,  but  I  have  not  come  here  to  talk  nonsense  to 
you.  You  have  trusted  me  in  this  matter,  and  ad- 
mitted me  largely  into  your  confidence,  and  I  shall 
speak  to  you  in  honest,  plain  English.  Mrs.  Hil- 
land's  symptoms  are  very  serious.  What  I  feared 
has  taken  place.  From  her  acute  and  prolonged 
mental  distress  and  depression,  of  which  she  would 
have  died  had  you  not  come,  she  reacted  first  into 
mental  lethargy,  and  now  into  almost  complete 
mental  inactivity.  I  cannot  discover  that  any  dis- 
turbed physical  functions  have  been  an  element  in 
her  mental  aberration,  for  more  perfect  physical  life 
and  loveliness  I  have  never  seen.  Her  white  hair, 
which  might  have  made  her  look  old,  is  a  foil  to  a 
beauty  which  seems  to  defy  age. 

•'  Pardon  me  for  saying  it,  but  I  fear  our  treat- 
ment has  been  superficial.  We  men  of  the  world 
may  believe  what  we  please,  but  to  many  natures, 
especially  to  an  organization  like  Mrs.  Hilland's, 
hope  and  faith  are  essential.  She  has  practically 
been  without  these  from  the  first,  and,  as  you 
know,  she  was  sinking  under  the  struggle  main- 
tained by  her  own  brave,  womanly  spirit.  She  was 
contending  with  more  than  actual  bereavement.  It 
was  the  hopelessness  of  the  struggle  that  crushed 
her,  for  she  is  not  one  of  that  large  class  of  women 


43©  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

who  can  find  consolation  in  crape  and  becoming 
mourning. 

"  In  response  to  your  appeal,  she  did  make  the 
effort  you  required,  but  it  was  the  effort  of  a  mind 
still  without  hope  or  faith, — one  that  saw  no  remedy 
for  the  evils  that  had  already  overwhelmed  her, — 
and  I  must  bear  witness  that  her  efforts  were  as  sin- 
cere as  they  were  pathetic.  We  all  watched  to  give 
every  assistance  in  our  power.  I've  lain  awake 
nights,  Colonel  Graham,  to  think  of  remedies  that 
would  meet  her  needs  ;  and  good  Mrs.  Mayburn 
and  your  old  black  cook,  Aunt  Sheba,  prepared 
food  fit  for  the  gods.  You  were  more  untiring  and 
effective  than  any  of  us,  and  the  major's  very  in- 
firmities were  among  her  strongest  allies.  Well,  we 
have  the  result, — a  woman  who  might  be  a  model 
for  a  goddess,  even  to  her  tranquil  face,  in  which 
there  is  no  trace  of  varying  human  feeling.  Expla- 
nation of  the  evil  that  crushed  her,  hope,  and  faith 
were  not  given, — who  can  give  them  ? — but  they 
were  essential  to  her  from  the  first.  Unbelief, 
which  is  a  refuge  to  some,  was  an  abyss  to  her.  In 
it  she  struggled  and  groped  until  her  mind,  appalled 
and  discouraged  and  overwhelmed,  refused  to  act  at 
all.  In  one  sense  it  is  a  merciful  oblivion,  in  an- 
other a  fatal  one,  from  which  she  must  be  aroused 
if  possible.     But  it's  a  hard,  hard  case." 

"You  make  it  hard  indeed,"  said  Graham,  des- 
perately. "What  faith  can  I  instil  except  the 
one  I  have?  I  can't  lie,  even  for  Grace  Hilland. 
She  knew  well  once  that  I  could  easily  die  for 
her." 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE.  431 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  physician,  "  permit  a 
plain,  direct  question.     Will  you  marry  her  ?" 

"  Marry  her — as  she  now  is?"  cried  Graham,  in 
unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  You  said  you  could  die  for  her.  This  may  be 
going  much  farther.  Indeed  I  should  call  it  the 
triumph  of  human  affection,  for  in  honesty  I  must 
tell  you  that  she  may  never  be  better,  she  may  be- 
come worse.  But  I  regard  it  as  her  only  chance. 
At  any  rate,  she  needs  a  vigilant  care-taker.  Old 
Mrs.  Mayburn  will  not  be  equal  to  the  task  much 
longer,  and  her  place  will  have  to  be  filled  by  hired 
service.  I  know  it  is  like  suggesting  an  almost  im- 
possible sacrifice  to  broach  even  the  thought,  re- 
piembering  her  condition,  but — " 

"Dr.  Markham,"  said  Graham,  pacing  the  floor 
in  great  agitation,  "  you  wholly  misunderstand  me. 
I  was  thinking  of  her,  not  of  myself.  What  right 
have  I  to  marry  Grace  Hilland  without  her  consent  ? 
She  could  give  no  intelligent  assent  at  present." 

"  The  right  of  your  love  ;  the  right  her  husband 
gave  when  he  committed  her  to  your  care  ;  the 
right  of  your  desire  to  prevent  her  from  drifting 
into  hopeless,  life-long  imbecility,  wherein  she  would 
be  almost  at  the  mercy  of  hired  attendants,  helpless 
to  shield  herself  from  any  and  every  wrong  ;  the 
right  of  a  man  to  sacrifice  himself  absolutely  for  an- 
other if  he  chooses." 

"  But  she  might  waken  from  this  mental  trance 
and  feel  that  I  had  taken  a  most  dishonorable  ad- 
vantage of  her  helplessness. 

"  Yes,  you   run   that   risk  ;  but  here   is  one  man 


432  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

who  will  assure  her  to  the  contrary,  and  you  would 
be  sustained  by  the  consciousness  of  the  purest  mo- 
tives. It  is  that  she  may  waken  that  I  suggest  the 
step  ;  mark,  I  do  not  advise  it.  As  I  said  at  first,  I 
am  simply  treating  you  with  absolute  confidence  and 
sincerity.  If  matters  go  on  as  they  are,  I  have  lit- 
tle or  no  hope.  Mrs.  Mayburn  is  giving  way  under 
the  strain,  and  symptoms  of  her  old  disorder  are 
returning.  She  cannot  watch  Mrs.  Hilland  much 
longer  as  she  has  been  doing.  Whom  will  you  put 
in  her  place  ?  Will  you  send  Mrs.  Hilland  to  an 
asylum,  with  its  rules  and  systems  and  its  unknown 
attendants  ?  Moreover,  her  present  tranquil  condi- 
tion may  not  last.  She  may  become  as  violent  as 
she  now  is  gentle.  She  may  gradually  regain  her 
intelligence,  or  it  may  be  restored  to  her  by  some 
sudden  shock.  If  the  mysteries  of  the  physical 
nature  so  bafifle  us,  who  can  predict  the  future  of  a 
disordered  intellect  ?  I  have  presented  the  darkest 
side  of  the  picture  ;  I  still  think  it  has  its  bright 
side.  She  has  no  hereditary  mental  weakness  to 
contend  with.  As  it  developed  somewhat  grad- 
ually, it  may  pass  in  the  same  manner.  If  you 
should  marry  her  and  take  her  at  once  to  Europe, 
change  of  scene,  of  life,  with  your  vigilant  presence 
ever  near,  might  become  important  factors  in  the 
problem.  The  memory  that  she  was  committed  to 
your  care  has  degenerated  into  a  controlling  in- 
stinct ;  but  that  is  far  better  than  nothing.  The 
only  real  question  in  my  mind  is,  Are  you  willing  to 
make  the  sacrifice  and  take  the  risks  }    You  know 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE,  43J 

the  world  will  say  you  married  her  for  her  money, 
and  that  will  be  hard  on  a  man  like  you." 

Graham  made  a  gesture  of  contempt  :  "  That  for 
the  world,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  broached  this 
subject  to  her  father  and  my  aunt  ?" 

"  Certainly  not  before  speaking  to  you." 

"You  then  give  me  your  assurance,  as  a  man, 
that  you  believe  this  right,  and  that  it  is  Grace  Hil- 
land's  best  chance, — indeed,  almost  her  only  chance, 
for  recovery  ?" 

"  I  do  most  unhesitatingly,  and  I  shall  do  more. 
I  shall  bring  from  New  York  an  eminent  physician 
who  has  made  mental  disease  a  study  all  his  life, 
and  he  shall  either  confirm  my  opinion  or  advise 
you  better." 

"  Do  so.  Dr.  Markham,"  said  Graham,  very 
gravely.  "  I  have  incurred  risks  before  in  my  life, 
but  none  like  this.  If  from  any  cause  Mrs.  Hilland 
should  recover  memory  and  full  intelligence,  and 
reproach  me  for  having  taken  advantage  of  a  condi- 
tion which,  even  among  savage  tribes,  renders  the 
afflicted  one  sacred,  all  the  fiendish  tortures  of  the 
Inquisition  would  be  nothing  to  what  I  should 
suffer.  Still,  prove  to  me,  prove  to  her  father,  that 
it  is  her  best  chance,  and  for  Grace  Hilland  I  will 
take  even  this  risk.  Please  remember  there  must 
be  no  professional  generalities.  I  must  have  your 
solemn  written  statement  that  it  is  for  Mrs.  Hil- 
land's  sake  I  adopt  the  measure." 

"So  be  it,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  shall  telegraph 
to  Dr.  Armand  immediately  to  expect  me,  and  shall 


434  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

say  that  I  wish  him  to  be  prepared  to  come  at 
once." 

"  Do  so,  and  consider  no  question  of  expense.  I 
am  no  longer  poor,  and  if  I  were,  I  would  mortgage 
my  blood  at  this  juncture." 

On  the  following  evening  Dr.  Armand  was  almost 
startled  by  the  vision  on  the  veranda  of  the  St.  John 
cottage,  A  silvery-haired  woman  sat  looking  plac- 
idly at  the  glowing  sunset,  with  its  light  and  its 
rose-hues  reflected  in  her  face. 

"  If  ever  there  was  a  picture  of  a  glorified  saint, 
there  is  one,"  he  muttered,  as  he  advanced  and 
bowed. 

She  gave  him  no  attention,  but  with  dark  eyes, 
made  brilliant  by  the  level  rays,  she  gazed  steadily 
on  the  closing  day.  The  physician  stole  a  step  or 
two  nearer,  and  looked  as  steadily  at  her,  while  his 
experienced  eye  detected  in  all  her  illuminated 
beauty  the  absence  of  the  higher,  more  subtle  light 
of  reason.  Dr.  Markham  had  told  him  next  to  noth- 
ing about  the  case,  and  had  asked  him  to  go  and 
see  for  himself,  impressing  him  only  with  the  fact 
that  it  was  a  question  of  vital  importance  that  he 
was  to  aid  in  deciding  ;  that  he  must  give  it  his 
whole  professional  skill,  and  all  the  necessary  time, 
regardless  of  expense.  The  moment  he  saw  Grace, 
however,  the  business  aspect  of  the  affair  passed 
from  his  mind.  His  ruling  passion  was  aroused, 
and  he  was  more  than  physician, — a  student, — as 
the  great  in  any  calling  ever  are. 

Graham  came  to  the  door  and  recognized  in- 
stinctively the  intent,  eagle-eyed  man,  who  merely 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE.  435 

nodded  and  motioned  him  to  approach  his  patient. 
Graham  did  so,  and  Grace  turned  her  eyes  to  him 
with  a  timid,  questioning  glance.  He  offered  her 
his  arm  ;  she  rose  instantly  and  took  it,  and  began 
walking  with  him. 

"  Were  you  looking  at  the  sunset,  Grace  ?" 

She  turned  upon  him  the  same  inquiring  eyes,  but 
did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  not  think  it  very  beautiful?  Does  it 
not  remind  you  of  the  sunset  you  saw  on  the  even- 
ing when  I  returned  from  my  first  battle  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  only  looked  perplexed. 

"  Why,  Grace,"  he  continued  as  if  provoked, 
"you  must  remember.  I  was  carried,  you  know, 
and  you  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  acted  as  if  my  scratches 
were  mortal  wounds." 

She  looked  frightened  at  his  angry  tones,  clasped 
her  hands,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  looked  plead- 
ingly up  to  him. 

"  Dear  Grace,  don't  be  worried."  He  now  spoke 
in  the  gentlest  tones,  and  lifted  her  hand  to  his 
lips.  A  quick,  evanescent  smile  illumined  her  face. 
She  fawned  against  his  shoulder  a  moment,  placed 
his  hand  against  her  cheek,  and  then  leaned  upon 
his  arm  as  they  resumed  their  walk.  Dr.  Armand 
keeping  near  them  without  in  the  least  attracting 
her  attention. 

"Grace,"  resumed  Graham,  "you  must  remem- 
ber.    Hilland,  Warren,  you  know." 

She  dropped  his  arm,  looked  wildly  around,  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands,  and  shuddered  con- 
vulsively. 


436  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

After  a  moment  he  said,  kindly  but  firmly, 
"  Grace,  dear  Grace." 

She  sprang  to  him,  seized  his  hand,  and  casting 
a  look  of  suspicion  at  Dr.  Armand,  drew  him 
away. 

A  few  moments  later  she  was  again  looking  tran- 
quilly at  the  west,  but  the  light  had  departed  from 
the  sky  and  from  her  face.  It  had  the  look  of  one 
who  saw  not,  thought  and  felt  not.  It  was  breath- 
ing, living  death. 

Graham  looked  at  her  mournfully  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then,  with  a  gesture  that  was  almost 
despairing,  turned  to  the  physician,  who  had  not 
lost  a  single  expression. 

"  Thank  you,"  was  that  gentleman's  first  laconic 
remark  ;  and  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  still  with  his 
eyes  on  the  motionless  figure  of  Grace. 

At  last  he  asked,  "  How  long  would  she  maintain 
that  position  ?" 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  was  the  sad  response  ; 
"  many  hours  certainly." 

"  Please  let  her  retain  it  till  I  request  you  to  in- 
terfere. The  moon  is  rising  almost  full,  the  evening 
is  warm,  and  she  can  take  no  harm." 

The  major  tottered  out  on  his  crutches,  and  was 
given  his  chair,  the  physician  meanwhile  being  in- 
troduced. Brief  and  courteous  was  Dr.  Armand's 
acknowledgment,  but  he  never  took  his  eyes  from 
his  patient.  The  same  was  true  of  his  greeting  to 
Mrs.  Mayburn  ;  but  that  good  lady's  hospitable  in- 
stincts soon  asserted  themselves,  and  she  announced 
that  dinner  was  ready. 


GRAHAM'S  LAST  SACRIFICE.  437 

"Take  Mrs.  Hilland  to  dinner,"  said  the  phy- 
sician to  Graham  ;   "  but  first  introduce  me." 

The  young  man  approached  and  said,  "Grace." 
She  rose  instantly  and  took  his  arm.  "  This  is  Dr. 
Armand,  Grace.  He  has  called  to  see  you."  She 
made  him  a  courteous  inclination,  and  then  turned 
to  Graham  to  see  what  next  was  expected  of  her, 
but  he  only  led  her  to  the  dining-room. 

"  Gracie,  darling,  bring  me  my  cushion,"  said  her 
father,  speaking  as  he  had  been  used  to  do  when 
she  was  a  little  girl. 

She  brought  it  mechanically  and  arranged  it,  then 
stood  in  expectancy.  "  That  will  do,  dear  ;"  and 
she  returned  to  her  seat  in  silence.  Throughout 
the  meal  she  maintained  this  silence,  although  Dr. 
Armand  broached  many  topics,  avoiding  only  the 
name  of  her  husband.  Her  manner  was  that  of  a 
little,  quiet,  well-bred  child,  who  did  not  under- 
stand what  was  said,  and  had  no  interest  in  it.  The 
physician's  scrutiny  did  not  embarrass  her  ;  she  had 
never  remembered,  much  less  forgotten  him. 

When  the  meal  was  over  they  all  returned  to  the 
piazza.  At  the  physician's  request  she  was  placed 
in  her  old  seat,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  watch. 
The  moon  rose  higher  and  higher,  made  her  hair 
more  silvery,  touched  her  still  face  with  a  strange, 
ethereal  beauty,  and  threw  the  swaying  shadow  of  a 
spray  of  woodbine  across  her  motionless  figure, — so 
motionless  that  she  seemed  a  sculptured  rather  than 
a  breathing  woman. 

After  a  while  the  old  major  rose  and  groaned  as 
he  tottered  away.     Mrs.  Mayburn,  in  uncontrollable 


438  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

nervous  restlessness,  soon  followed,  that  she  might 
find  relief  in  household  cares.  The  two  men 
watched  on  till  hours  had  passed,  and  still  the  lovely 
image  had  not  stirred.  At  last  Dr.  Armand  ap- 
proached her  and  said,  "  Mrs.  Hilland." 

She  rose,  and  stood  coldly  aloof.  The  name, 
with  her  prefix,  did  not  trouble  her.  She  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  that.  "  Hilland,"  as  Graham 
uttered  the  word,  alone  affected  her,  touching  some 
last  deep  chord  of  memory. 

"  Mrs.  Hilland,"  the  doctor  continued,  "  it  is  get- 
ting late.    Do  you  not  think  you  had  better  retire  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  blankly,  and  glanced  around  as 
if  in  search  of  some  one. 

"  I  am  here,  Grace,"  said  Graham,  emerging  from 
the  doorway. 

She  came  to  him  at  once,  and  he  led  her  to  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  kissing  her  hand,  and  receiving,  in  return, 
her  strange,  brief,  fawning  caress. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  the  history  of  Mrs.  Hil- 
land's  malady  from  the  beginning,"  said  Dr.  Ar- 
mand, when  Graham  returned. 

"  I  cannot  go  over  it  again,"  replied  Graham, 
hoarsely.  "  Dr.  Markham  can  tell  you  about  all, 
and  I  will  answer  any  questions.  Your  room  is 
ready  for  you  here,  where  Dr.  Markham  will  join 
you  presently.  I  must  bid  you  good-night  ;"  and 
he  strode  away. 

But  as  he  passed  under  the  apple-tree  and  re- 
called all  that  had  occurred  there,  he  was  so  over- 
come that  once  more  he  leaned  against  it  for  sup- 
port. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY. 

'T^HERE  was  no  sleep  for  Graham  that  night,  for 
-1-  he  knew  that  two  skilful  men  were  consulting 
on  a  question  beyond  any  that  had  agitated  his 
heart  before.  As  he  paced  the  little  parlor  with 
restless  steps,  Aunt  Sheba's  ample  form  filled  the 
doorway,  and  in  her  hands  was  a  tray  bearing  such 
coffee  as  only  she  knew  how  to  brew. 

*'  Thanks,  Aunt  Sheba,"  he  said,  motioning  to  a 
table,  without  pausing  in  his  distracted  walk. 

She  put  down  the  tray,  retreated  hesitatingly, 
and  then  began  :  "  Dear  Mas'r  Graham,  my  ole 
heart  jes  aches  for  yer.  But  don't  yer  be  so  cast 
down,  Mas'r  ;  de  good  Lord  knows  it  all,  and  I'se  a 
prayin'  for  yer  and  de  lubly  Miss  Grace  night  and 
day," 

He  was  so  utterly  miserable  that  he  was  grateful 
for  even  this  homely  sympathy,  and  he  took  the  old 
woman's  hand  in  his  as  he  said  kindly,  "  Pray  on, 
then,  good  old  aunty,  if  it's  any  comfort  to  you. 
It  certainly  can  do  no  harm." 

"  O  Mas'r  Graham,  you  dunno,  you  dunno.  Wid 
all  yer  wise  knowin',  yer  dunno.     You'se  all— good 


440  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

Mis'  Mayburn,  de  ole  major,  an'  all — are  in  de  dark 
land  ob  unbelievin',  like  poor  Missy  Grace.  She 
doesn't  know  how  you'se  all  tink  about  her  an'  lub 
her  ;  needer  does  you  know  how  de  good  Lord  tinks 
about  you  and  lubs  you.  You  guv  me  my  liberty  ; 
you  guv  what  I  tinks  a  sight  more  on  ;  you'se  been 
kind  to  de  poor  ole  slave  dat  los'  all  her  chillen  in 
de  weary  days  dat's  gone.  I'se  a  'memberin'  yer 
all  de  time.  You  hab  no  faith,  Mas'r  Graham,  and 
poor  ole  Aunt  Sheba  mus'  hab  faith  for  yer.  An' 
so  I  will.  I'se  a  wrastlin'  wid  de  Lord  for  yer  all 
de  time,  an'  I'se  a  gwine  ter  wrastle  on  till  I  sees 
yer  an'  Missy  Grace  an'  all  comin'  inter  de  light  ;" 
arid  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  went 
sobbing  away. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  when  she  left  him, 
touched  deeply  by  the  deep,  homely,  human  sym- 
pathy and  gratitude  of  the  kind  old  soul  who  fed 
him — as  he  never  forgot — when  he  was  a  fugitive  in 
a  hostile  land.  That  she  had  manifested  her  feel- 
ing after  what  he  deemed  her  own  ignorant,  super- 
stitious fashion  was  nothing.  It  was  the  genuine 
manifestation  of  the  best  human  traits  that  touched 
him, — pure  gems  illumining  a  nature  otherwise  so 
clouded  and  crude. 

Late  at  night  footsteps  approached,  and  the  two 
physicians  entered.  "  I  first  permitted  Dr.  Ar- 
mand  to  form  his  own  impressions,  and  since  have 
told  him  everything,"  said  Dr.  Markham,  "  and  he 
strongly  inclines  to  my  view.  Realizing  the  gravity 
of  the  case,  however,  he  has  consented  to  remain  a 
day  or  two  longer.     We  will   give  you    no  hasty 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  441 

opinion,  and  you  shall  have  time  on  your  part  to 
exercise  the  most  deliberate  judgment." 

Dr.  Armand  confirmed  his  associate's  words,  and 
added,  "We  will  leave  you  now  to  the  rest  you 
must  need  sorely.  Let  me  assure  you,  however, 
that  I  do  not  by  any  means  consider  Mrs.  Hilland's 
case  hopeless,  and  that  I  am  strongly  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  her  recovery  must  come  through 
you.  A  long  train  of  circumstances  has  given  you 
almost  unbounded  influence  over  her,  as  you  en- 
abled me  to  see  this  evening.  It  would  be  sad  to 
place  such  a  glorious  creature  in  the  care  of  stran- 
gers, for  it  might  involve  serious  risk  should  she 
regain  her  memory  and  intelligence  with  no  strong, 
sympathetic  friend,  acquainted  with  her  past,  near 
her.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  what  is  now  little 
more  than  an  instinct  will  again  develop  into  a 
memory,  and  that  the  fact  that  she  was  committed 
to  your  care  will  fully  reconcile  her  to  the  marriage, 
— indeed,  render  her  most  grateful  for  it,  if  capable 
of  understanding  the^  reasons  which  led  to  it.  If 
further  observation  confirms  my  present  impres- 
sions, I  and  Dr.  Markham  will  plainly  state  our 
opinions  to  her  father  and  Mrs.  Mayburn.  As  my 
colleague  has  said,  you  must  comprehend  the  step 
in  all  its  bearings.  It  is  one  that  I  would  not  ask 
any  man  to  take.  I  now  think  that  the  probabili- 
ties are  that  it  would  restore  Mrs.  Hilland  to  health 
eventually.  A  year  of  foreign  travel  might  bring 
about  a  gradual  and  happy  change." 

"  Take  time  to  satisfy  yourselves,  gentlemen,  and 
give   me   your   decision   as   requested.     Then   you 


442  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

have  my  permission  to  give  your  opinions  to  Major 
St.  John." 

Within  a  week  this  was  done,  and  the  poor  old 
man  bowed  his  head  on  Graham's  shoulder  and  wept 
aloud  in  his  gratitude.  Mrs.  Mayburn  also,  wiping 
away  her  tears,  faltered,  "You  know,  Alford,  how 
I  schemed  for  this  marriage  years  ago  ;  you  remem- 
ber my  poor  blind  strategy  on  that  June  day,  do 
you  not  ?  How  little  I  thought  it  would  take  place 
under  circumstances  like  these  !  And  yet,  I've 
thought  of  it  of  late  often,  very  often.  I  could  not 
go  on  much  longer,  for  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  it 
just  broke  my  heart  to  think  of  Grace,  our  Grace, 
passing  into  the  hands  of  some  hired  and  indifferent 
stranger  or  strangers.  I  believe  she  will  recover 
and  reward  your  sacrifice." 

"  It  is  no  sacrifice  on  my  part,  aunt,  except  she 
wakens  only  to  reproach  me." 

"  Well,  devotion,  then  ;  and  little  sense  she'd 
ever  have, "  concluded  the  old  lady,  after  her  own 
brusque  fashion,  "  if  she  does  not  fall  on  her  knees 
and  bless  you.  You  could  now  take  better  care  of 
her  than  I,  for  she  trusts  and  obeys  you  implicitly. 
She  is  docile  and  gentle  with  me,  but  often  strangely 
inattentive.  She  would  be  still  more  so  with  a 
stranger  ;  and  the  idea  of  some  strong,  unfeeling 
hands  forcing  her  into  the  routine  of  her  life  !" 

Thus  almost  completely  was  removed  from  his 
mind  the  unspeakable  dread  lest  he  was  taking  an 
unfair  advantage  of  helplessness.  He  fully  recog- 
nized also  that  the  ordeal  for  himself  would  be  a 
terrible  one, — that  it  would  be  the  fable  of  Tantalus 


MARRIED   UNCONSCIOUSLY.  443 

repeated  for  weeks,  months,  perhaps  for  years,  or 
for  life.  The  unfulfilled  promise  of  happiness  would 
ever  be  before  him.  His  dark-visaged  rivals.  Grief 
and  Death,  would  jeer  and  mock  at  him  from  a  face 
of  perfect  beauty.  In  a  blind,  vindictive  way  he 
felt  that  his  experience  was  the  very  irony  of  fate. 
He  could  clasp  the  perfect  material  form  of  a 
woman  to  his  heart,  and  at  the  same  time  his  heart 
be  breaking  for  what  could  not  be  seen  or  touched. 

The  question,  however,  was  decided  irrevocably. 
He  knew  that  he  could  not  leave  helpless  Grace 
Hilland  to  the  care  of  strangers,  and  that  there  was 
no  place  for  him  in  the  world  but  at  her  side  ;  and 
yet  it  was  with  something  of  the  timidity  and  hesi- 
tation of  a  lover  that  he  asked  her,  as  they  paced  a 
shady  garden-walk,  "  Grace,  dear  Grace,  will  you 
marry  me  ?" 

His  voice  was  very  low  and  gentle,  and  yet  she 
turned  upon  him  a  startled,  inquiring  look.  "  Mar- 
ry you  ?"  she  repeated  slowly. 

"Yes,  let  me  take  care  of  you  always,"  he  re- 
plied, smilingly,  and  yet  as  pale  almost  as  herself. 

The  word  "  care"  reassured  her,  and  she  gave 
him  her  wonted  smile  of  content,  as  she  replied, 
very  slowly,  ' '  Yes.  I  want  you  to  take  care  of  me 
always.     Who  else  can  ?" 

"  That's  what  I  mean  by  marrying  you, — taking 
care  of  you  always,"  he  said,  raising  her  hand  to 
his  lips. 

"  You  are  always  to  take  care  of  me,"  she  replied, 
leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder  for  a  moment. 

"  Mrs.  Mayburn  is  not  strong  enough  to  take  care 


444  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

of  you  any  longer.  She  will  take  care  of  your 
father.  Will  you  let  me  take  care  of  you  as  she 
does  ?" 

She  smiled  contentedly,  for  the  word  "  care"  ap- 
peared to  make  all  natural  and  right. 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  be  married  in 
the  presence  of  Dr.  Markham,  Aunt  Sheba,  and 
Jinny,  in  addition  to  those  so  deeply  interested. 
The  physician  prepared  the  clergyman  for  the  cere- 
mony, which  was  exceedingly  brief  and  simple, 
Grace  smiling  into  Graham's  face  when  he  promised 
to  take  care  of  her  always,  and  she  signifying  her 
consent  and  pleasure  in  the  manner  that  was  so 
mute  and  sad.  Then  he  told  her  that  he  was  going 
to  take  her  away,  that  she  might  get  perfectly 
strong  and  well  ;  and  she  went  at  his  request  with- 
out hesitancy,  although  seeming  to  wonder  slightly 
at  the  strong  emotion  of  her  father  and  Mrs.  May- 
burn  when  parting  from  her.  Jinny,  who  had  been 
her  nurse  in  childhood,  accompanied  her.  Dr.  Mark- 
ham  also  went  with  them  as  far  as  the  steamer,  and 
they  sailed  away  into  a  future  as  vague  and  un- 
known to  them  as  the  ocean  they  were  crossing. 

The  waves  seen  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer  pro- 
duced in  Grace  the  same  content  with  which  she  had 
gazed  at  them  from  the  shore  during  the  previous 
summer  ;  only  now  there  were  faint  signs  of  wonder 
in  her  expression,  and  sometimes  of  perplexity. 
Her  eyes  also  wandered  around  the  great  vessel 
with  something  of  the  interest  of  a  child,  but  she 
asked  no  questions.  That  Graham  was  with  her 
and  smiled  reassuringly  seemed  sufficient,  while  the 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  445 

presence  of  her  old  colored  nurse,  who  in  some  dim 
way  was  connected  with  her  past,  gave  also  an  addi- 
tional sense  of  security. 

As  time  elapsed  and  they  began  their  wanderings 
abroad,  it  seemed  to  Graham  that  his  wife  was  be- 
ginning life  over  again,  as  a  very  little  quiet  child 
would  observe  the  strange  and  unaccountable  phe- 
nomena about  it.  Instead  of  her  fixed  vacancy  of 
gaze,  her  eyes  began  to  turn  from  object  to  object 
with  a  dawning  yet  uncomprehending  interest.  He 
in  simplest  words  sought  to  explain  and  she  to 
listen,  though  it  was  evident  that  their  impression 
was  slight  indeed.  Still  there  was  perceptible  prog- 
ress, and  when  in  his  tireless  experimenting  he  be- 
gan to  bring  before  her  those  things  which  would 
naturally  interest  a  child,  he  was  encouraged  to  note 
that  they  won  a  larger  and  more  pleased  attention. 
A  garden  full  of  flowers,  a  farm-yard  with  its  sleek, 
quiet  cattle,  a  band  of  music,  a  broad,  funny  panto- 
mime, were  far  more  to  her  than  Westminster 
Abbey  or  St.  Paul's.  Later,  the  variety,  color,  and 
movement  of  a  Paris  boulevard  quite  absorbed  her 
attention,  and  she  followed  one  object  after  another 
with  much  the  same  expression  that  might  be  seen 
on  the  face  of  a  Httle  girl  scarcely  three  years  old. 
This  infantile  expression,  in  contrast  with  her  silver 
hair  and  upon  her  mature  and  perfect  features,  was 
pathetic  to  the  last  degree,  and  yet  Graham  rejoiced 
with  exceeding  joy.  With  every  conscious  glance 
and  inquiring  look  the  dawn  of  hope  brightened. 
He  was  no  longer  left  alone  in  the  awful  solitude  of 
living  death.     The  beautiful  form  was  no  longer  like 


446  HIS   SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

a  deserted  home.  It  now  had  a  tenant,  even  though 
it  seemed  but  the  mind  of  a  little  child.  The  rays 
of  intelligence  sent  out  were  feeble  indeed,  but  how 
much  better  than  the  blank  darkness  that  had  pre- 
ceded !  Something  like  happiness  began  to  soften 
and  brighten  the  husband's  face  as  he  took  his 
child-wife  here  and  there.  He  made  the  long 
galleries  of  the  Louvre  and  of  Italy  her  picture- 
books,  and  while  recognizing  that  she  was  pleased 
with  little  more  than  color,  form,  and  action, — that 
the  sublime,  equally  with  the  vicious  and  supersti- 
tious meanings  of  the  great  masters,— were  hidden, 
he  was  nevertheless  cheered  and  made  more  hopeful 
by  the  fact  that  she  was  pleased  and  observant, — ■ 
that  she  began  to  single  out  favorites  ;  and  before 
these  he  would  let  her  stand  as  long  as  she  chose, 
and  return  to  them  when  so  inclined. 

She  had  lost  the  power  of  reading  a  line.  She 
did  not  know  even  her  letters  ;  and  these  he  began 
to  teach  her  with  unflagging  zeal  and  patience. 
How  the  mysterious  problem  would  end  he  could 
not  tell.  It  might  be  that  by  kindling  a  little  light 
the  whole  past  would  become  illumined  ;  it  might 
be  that  he  would  have  to  educate  her  over  again  ; 
but  be  the  future  what  it  would,  the  steadfast  prin- 
ciple of  devotion  to  her  became  more  fixed,  and  to 
care  for  her  the  supreme  law  of  his  being. 

From  the  time  of  his  first  message  by  cable  he 
had  rarely  lost  an  opportunity  to  send  a  letter  to 
the  anxious  ones  at  home,  and  their  replies  abound- 
ed in  solicitous,  grateful  words.  Dr.  Markham  often 
called,  and  rubbed    his  hands  with  increasing   self- 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  447 

gratulation  over  the  success  of  his  bold  measure, 
especially  as  encomiums  on  his  sagacity  had  been 
passed  by  the  great  Dr.  Armand. 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed,  and  Graham  and  his 
wife,  after  their  saunterings  over  the  Continent, 
were  spending  the  summer  in  the  Scotch  High- 
lands. They  sailed  on  the  lochs,  fished  from  their 
banks,  and  climbed  the  mountain  passes  on  little 
shaggy  ponies  that  were  Scotch  in  their  stubborn- 
ness and  unflinching  endurance.  Grace  had  become 
even  companionable  in  her  growing  intelligence, 
and  in  the  place  of  her  silent,  inquiring  glances 
there  were  sometimes  eager,  childlike  questionings. 

Of  late,  however,  Graham  noted  the  beginnings 
of  another  change.  With  growing  frequency  she 
passed  her  hand  over  her  brow,  that  was  contracted 
in  perplexity.  Sometimes  she  would  look  at  him 
curiously,  at  Jinny,  and  at  the  unfamiliar  scenes  of 
her  environment,  then  shake  her  head  as  if  she 
could  not  comprehend  it  all.  Speedily,  however, 
she  would  return  with  the  zest  of  a  quiet  little  girl 
to  the  pleasures  and  tasks  that  he  unweariedly  pro- 
vided. But  Graham  grew  haggard  and  sleepless  in 
his  vigilance,  for  he  believed  that  the  time  of  her 
awakening  was  near. 

One  day,  while  sailing  on  a  loch,  they  were  over- 
taken by  a  heavy  storm  and  compelled  to  run  be- 
fore it,  and  thus  to  land  at  no  little  distance  from 
their  inn.  Grace  showed  much  alarm  at  the  dashing 
waves  and  howling  tempest.  Nor  was  her  fright  at 
the  storm  wholly  that  of  an  unreasoning  child.  Its 
fury  seemed  to  arouse  and  shock  her,  and  while  she 


448  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

clung  to  Graham's  hand,  she  persisted  in  sitting  up- 
right and  looking  about,  as  if  trying  to  comprehend 
it  all.  After  landing  they  had  a  long,  fatiguing 
ride  in  the  darkness,  and  she  was  unusually  silent. 
On  reaching  her  room  she  glanced  around  as  if  all 
was  unfamiliar  and  incomprehensible.  Graham  had 
a  presentiment  that  the  hour  was  near,  and  he  left 
her  wholly  to  the  care  of  her  old  colored  nurse,  but 
almost  immediately,  from  excessive  weariness,  she 
sank  into  a  deep  slumber. 

Her  lethargy  lasted  so  late  in  the  following  day 
that  he  was  alarmed,  fearing  lest  her  old  symptoms 
were  returning.  With  anxious,  hollow  eyes  he 
watched  and  waited,  and  at  last  she  awoke  and 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  that  he  had 
longed  for  through  many  weary  months,  and  yet 
now  it  terrified  him. 

"  Alford, — Mr.  Graham,"  she  began,  in  deep  sur- 
prise. 

"  Hush,  dear  Grace.     You  have  been  very  ill." 

"  Yes,  but  where  am  I  ?     What  has  happened  ?" 

"  Very  much  ;  but  you  are  better  now.  Here  is 
Jinny,  your  old  nurse,  who  took  care  of  you  as  a 
child." 

The  old  colored  woman  came  in,  and,  as  in- 
structed, said,  "Yes,  honey,  I'se  tooken  care  ob 
you  since  you  was  a  baby,  and  I'se  nebber  lef  you." 

"  Everything  looks  very  strange.  Why,  Alford, 
I  had  a  long,  sad  talk  with  you  but  a  short  time 
since  in  the  library,  and  you  were  so  kind  and  un- 
selfish !" 

'  *  Yes,  Grace  ;    we  spoke  frankly  to  each  other, 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  449 

but  you  have  been  very  ill  since  then,  worse  than 
ever  before.  At  your  father's  request  and  Dr. 
Markham's  urgent  counsel,  I  took  you  to  Europe. 
It  was  said  to  be  your  only  chance." 

"  But  where  is  Mrs.  Mayburn  ?" 

"  She  is  at  home  taking  care  of  your  father.  Her 
old  sickness  threatened  to  return.  She  could  take 
care  of  you  no  longer,  and  you  needed  constant 
care. ' ' 

A  slow,  deep  flush  overspread  her  face  and  even 
her  neck  as  she  faltered,  "  And — and — has  no  one 
else  been  with  me  but  Jinny  ?" 

"  No  one  else  except  myself.  Grace,  dear  Grace, 
I  am  your  husband.  I  was  married  to  you  in  the 
presence  of  your  father,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  and  your 
family  physician." 

"  How  long  since?"  she  asked,  in  a  constrained 
voice. 

"  About  a  year  ago." 

"  Have  we  been  abroad  ever  since  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  you  have  been  steadily  improving. 
You  were  intrusted  to  my  care,  and  there  came  a 
time  when  I  must  either  be  faithful  to  that  trust,  or 
place  you  in  the  hands  of  strangers.  You  were 
helpless,  dear  Grace." 

"  Evidently,"  in  the  same  low,  constrained  tone. 
"  Could — could  you  not  have  fulfilled  your  trust  in 
some  other  way  ?" 

"Your  father,  your  second  mother,  and  your 
physician  thought  not." 

"Still — "  she  began,  hesitated,  and  again  came 
that  deep,  deep  flush. 


45 o  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

"  For  your  sake,  Grace,  I  incurred  the  risk  of  this 
awful  moment." 

She  turned,  and  saw  an  expression  which  brought 
tears  to  her  eyes.  "I  cannot  misjudge  you,"  she 
said  slowly  ;  "  the  past  forbids  that.  But  I  cannot 
understand  it,  I  cannot  understand  it  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  you  never  will,  dear  Grace  ;  I  took  that 
risk  also  to  save  your  life  and  mind." 

"  My  mind  ?" 

"Yes,  your  mind.  If,  in  recalling  the  past,  the 
memory  of  which  has  returned,  you  can  preserve 
sufificient  confidence  in  me  to  wait  till  all  is  clear 
and  explained,  I  shall  be  profoundly  grateful.  I 
foresaw  the  possibility  of  this  hour  ;  I  foresaw  it  as 
the  chief  danger  and  trial  of  my  life  ;  and  I  took 
the  risk  of  its  consequences  for  your  sake  because 
assured  by  the  highest  authority  that  it  was  your 
one  chance  for  escape,  not  from  death,  but  from  a 
fate  worse  than  death,  which  also  would  have  re- 
moved you  from  my  care, — indeed  the  care  of  all 
who  loved  you.  I  have  prepared  myself  for  this 
emergency  as  well  as  I  could.  Here  are  letters 
from  your  father,  Mrs.  Mayburn,  Dr.  Markham,  and 
Dr.  Armand,  one  of  the  most  eminent  authorities  in 
the  world  on  brain  diseases.  But  after  all  I  must  be 
judged  by  your  woman's  heart,  and  so  stand  or  fall. 
I  now  have  but  one  request,  or  entreaty  rather,  to 
make, — that  you  do  not  let  all  the  efforts  we  have 
made  in  your  behalf  be  in  vain.  Can  you  not 
calmly  and  gradually  receive  the  whole  truth  ? 
There  must  be  no  more  relapses,  or  they  will  end  in 
black  ruin  to  us  all.     Now  that  you  can  think  for 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  451 

yourself,  your  slightest  wish  shall  be  my  law.  Jinny, 
remain  with  your  mistress." 

He  lifted  her  passive  hand  to  his  lips,  passed  into 
their  little  parlor,  and  closed  the  door.  Grace 
turned  to  her  nurse,  and  in  low,  almost  passionate 
utterance,  said,  "  Now  tell  me  all," 

"  Lor'  bress  you,  Missy  Grace,  it  'ud  take  a  right 
smart  time  to  tell  yer  all.  When  de  big  doctors  an' 
all  de  folks  say  you'se  got  to  hab  strangers  take 
care  ob  you  or  go  ter  a  'sylum,  and  arter  all  you'd 
git  wuss,  Mas'r  Graham  he  guv  in,  and  said  he'd 
take  care  ob  you,  and  dey  all  bress  'im  and  tank 
'im,  and  couldn't  say  'nuff.  Den  he  took  you  'cross 
de  big  ocean — golly  !  how  big  it  be — jes'  as  de  doc- 
tor said  ;  an'  nebber  hab  I  seed  sich  lub,  sich 
'votion  in  a  moder  as  Mas'r  Graham  hab  had  fer 
you.  He  had  to  take  care  ob  you  like  a  little  chile, 
an'  he  was  teachin'  you  how  to  read  like  a  little 
chile  when,  all  on  a  suddint,  you  wakes  up  an' 
knows  ebryting  you'se  forgotten.  But  de  part  you 
doesn't  know  is  de  part  mos'  wuth  knowin'.  No 
woman  eber  had  sich  a  husban'  as  Mas'r  Graham, 
an'  no  chile  sich  a  moder.  Clar  ter  grashus  ef  I 
b'lieve  he's  ebber  slep'  a  wink  wid  his  watchin'  an' 
a  tinkin'  what  he  could  do  fer  you." 

"  But,  Jinny,  I'm  not  ill  ;  I  never  felt  stronger  in 
my  life." 

"  Laws,  Missy  Grace,  dars  been  a  mirackle. 
You'se  strong  'nuff  'cept  your  mine's  been  off 
wisitin'  somewhar.  Golly  !  you  jes'  git  up  and 
let  me  dress  you,  an'  I'll  show  yer  de  hansom- 
est  woman  in  de  worl'.     All  yer's  got  ter  do  now 


452  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

is  jes'  be  sensible  like,  an'  yer  won't  have  yer 
match." 

Grace  cast  an  apprehensive  look  toward  the  door 
of  the  parlor  in  which  was  her  husband,  and  then 
said  hurriedly,  "  Yes,  dress  me  quick.  O  heavens  ! 
how  much  I  have  to  think  about,  to  realize  !" 

"  Now,  honey  dear,  you  jes'  keep  cool.  Don't 
go  an'  fly  right  off  de  handle  agin,  or  Mas'r  Gra- 
ham'll  blow  his  brains  out.  Good  Lor',  how  dat 
man  do  look  sometimes  !  An'  yet  often,  when  he 
was  pintin'  out  yer  letters  ter  yer,  or  showin'  yer 
pearty  tings,  like  as  you  was  a  chile,  he  look  so  hap- 
py and  gentle  like,  dat  I  say  he  jes'  like  a  moder. " 

Grace  was  touched,  and  yet  deep,  deep  in  her 
soul  she  felt  that  a  wrong  had  been  done  her,  no 
matter  what  had  been  the  motives.  Jinny  had  no 
such  fine  perceptions,  but  with  a  feminine  tact 
which  runs  down  through  the  lowliest  natures,  she 
chose  one  of  Grace's  quietest,  yet  most  becoming 
costumes,  and  would  not  let  her  go  to  the  glass  till 
arrayed  to  the  dusky  woman's  intense  satisfaction. 
Then  she  led  her  mistress  to  the  mirror  and  said, 
"  Look  dar,  honey  !  All  de  picters  you'se  eber 
seen  can't  beat  dat  !"  and  Grace  gazed  long  and 
fixedly  at  the  lovely  creature  that  gazed  back  with 
troubled  and  bewildered  eyes. 

"  Was — was  I  like  that  when — when  he  married 
me  ?" 

"  Yes,  an'  no,  honey.  You  only  look  like  a 
picter  of  a  woman  den, — a  berry  pearty  picter,  but 
nothin'  but  a  picter  arter  all.  Mas'r  Graham  hab 
brought  yer  ter  life. " 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  453 

With  another  lingering,  wondering  glance  at  her- 
self, she  turned  away  and  said,  "  Leave  me,  now, 
Jinny  ;   I  wish  to  be  alone." 

The  woman  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  speak, 
but  Grace  waved  her  away  imperiously,  and  sat  down 
to  the  letters  Graham  had  given  her.  She  read  and 
re-read  them.  They  confirmed  his  words.  She  was 
a  wife  :  her  husband  awaited  her  but  a  few  feet 
away, — her  husband,  and  she  had  never  dreamed  of 
marrying  again.  The  past  now  stood  out  luminous 
to  her,  and  Warren  Hilland  was  its  centre.  But 
another  husband  awaited  her, — one  whom  she  had 
never  consciously  promised  "  to  love,  honor,  and 
obey."  As  a  friend  she  could  worship  him,  obey 
him,  die  for  him  ;  but  as  her  husband, — how  could 
she  sustain  that  mysterious  bond  which  merges  one 
life  in  another  ?  She  was  drawn  toward  him  by 
every  impulse  of  gratitude.  She  saw  that,  whether 
misled  or  not,  he  had  been  governed  by  the  best  of 
motives, — nay,  more,  by  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice 
in  its  extreme  manifestation, — that  he  had  been 
made  to  believe  that  it  was  her  only  chance  for 
health  and  life.  Still,  in  her  deepest  consciousness 
he  was  but  Alford  Graham,  the  friend  most  loved 
and  trusted,  whom  she  had  known  in  her  far  distant 
home,  yet  not  her  husband.  How  could  she  go  to 
him,  what  could  she  say  to  him,  in  their  new  rela- 
tions that  seemed  so  unreal  ? 

She  trembled  to  leave  him  longer  in  the  agony  of 
suspense  ;  but  her  limbs  refused  to  support  her,  and 
her  woman's  heart  shrank  with  a  strange  and 
hitherto  unknown  fear. 


454  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

There  was  a  timid  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  Alford,"  she  said,  tremblingly. 

He  stood  before  her  haggard,  pale,  and  expectant. 

"  Alford,"  she  said,  sadly,  "  why  did  you  not  let 
me  die  ?'* 

"I  could  not,"  he  replied,  desperately.  "  As  I 
told  you,  there  is  a  limit  to  every  man's  strength. 
I  see  it  all  in  your  face  and  manner, — what  I  feared, 
what  I  warned  Dr.  Markham  against.  Listen  to 
me.  I  shall  take  you  home  at  once.  You  are  well. 
You  will  not  require  my  further  care,  and  you  need 
never  see  my  face  again." 

"  And  you,  Alford  ?"  she  faltered. 

"  Do  not  ask  about  me.  Beyond  the  hour  when 
I  place  you  in  your  father's  arms  I  know  nothing. 
I  have  reached  my  limit.  I  have  made  the  last 
sacrifice  of  which  I  am  capable.  If  you  go  back  as 
you  are  now,  you  are  saved  from  a  fate  which  it 
seemed  to  me  you  would  most  shrink  from  could 
you  know  it, — the  coarse,  unfeeling  touch  and  care 
of  strangers  who  could  have  treated  you  in  your 
helplessness  as  they  chose.  You  might  have  re- 
gained your  reason  years  hence,  only  to  find  that 
those  who  loved  you  were  broken-hearted,  lost, 
gone.  They  are  now  well  and  waiting  for  you. 
Here  are  their  letters,  written  from  week  to  week 
and  breathing  hope  and  cheer.  Here  is  the  last 
one  from  your  father,  written  in  immediate  response 
to  mine.  In  it  he  says,  *  My  hand  trembles,  but  it 
is  more  from  joy  than  age.'  You  were  gaining 
steadily,  although  only  as  a  child's  intelligence  de- 
velops.    He  writes,   '  I   shall   have  my  little  Grace 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  455 

once  more,  and  see  her  mind  grow  up  into  her  beau- 
tiful form.'  " 

She  bent  her  head  low  to  hide  the  tears  that  were 
falling  fast  as  she  faltered,  "Was  it  wholly  self- 
sacrifice  when  you  married  me  ?" 

"Yes — in  the  fear  of  this  hour,  the  bitterest  of 
my  life, — yes.  It  has  followed  me  like  a  spectre 
through  every  waking  and  sleeping  hour.  Please 
make  the  wide  distinction.  My  care  for  you,  the 
giving  up  of  my  life  for  you,  is  nothing.  That  I 
should  have  done  in  any  case,  as  far  as  I  could. 
But  with  my  knowledge  of  your  nature  and  your 
past,  I  could  not  seem  to  take  advantage  of  your 
helplessness  without  an  unspeakable  dread.  When 
shown  by  the  best  human  skill  that  I  could  thus 
save  you,  or  at  least  insure  that  you  would  ever 
have  gentle,  sympathetic  care,  I  resolved  to  risk 
the  last  extremity  of  evil  to  myself  for  your  sake. 
Now  you  have  the  whole  truth." 

She  rose  and  came  swiftly  to  him, — for  he  had 
scarcely  entered  the  room  in  his  wish  to  show  her 
respect, — and  putting  her  arm  around  his  neck, 
while  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  said  gently 
and  firmly  :  "  The  sacrifice  shall  not  be  all  on  your 
side.  I  have  never  consciously  promised  to  be  your 
wife,  but  now,  as  far  as  my  poor  broken  spirit  will 
permit,  I  do  promise  it.  But  be  patient  with  me, 
Alford.  Do  not  expect  what  I  have  not  the  power 
to  give.  I  can  only  promise  that  all  there  is  left  of 
poor  Grace  Hilland's  heart — if  aught — shall  be 
yours. 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  strong  man 


456  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

gave  way.  He  disengaged  her  so  hastily  as  to  seem 
almost  rough,  and  fell  forward  on  the  couch  uncon- 
scious. The  long  strain  of  years  had  culminated  in 
the  hour  he  so  dreaded,  and  in  the  sudden  revulsion 
caused  by  her  words  nature  gave  way. 

Almost  frantic  with  terror,  Grace  summoned  her 
servant,  and  help  from  the  people  of  the  inn.  For- 
tunately an  excellent  English  physician  was  stop- 
ping at  the  same  house,  and  he  was  speedily  at 
work.  Graham  recovered,  only  to  pass  into  mutter- 
ing delirium,  and  the  burden  of  his  one  sad  refrain 
was,  *'  If  she  should  never  forgive  me  !" 

"Great  heavens,  madam!  what  has  he  done?" 
asked  the  matter-of-fact  Englishman. 

What  a  keen  probe  that  question  was  to  the  wife 
as  she  sat  watching  through  the  long,  weary  night  ! 
In  an  agony  of  self-reproach  she  recalled  all  that  he 
had  done  for  her  and  hers  in  all  the  years,  and  now 
in  her  turn  she  entreated  him  to  live  ;  but  he  was  as 
unconscious  as  she  had  been  in  the  blank  past.  No 
wooing,  no  pleading,  could  have  been  so  potent  as 
his  unconscious  form,  his  strength  broken  at  last  in 
her  service. 

"  O  God  !"  she  cried, — forgetting  in  her  anguish 
that  she  had  no  God,—"  have  I  been  more  cruel 
than  all  the  war?  Have  I  given  him  the  wound 
that  shall  prove  fatal, — him  who  saved  Warren's 
life,  my  own,  my  reason,  and  everything  that  a 
woman  holds  dear?" 

Graham's  powerful  and  un vitiated  nature  soon 
rallied,  however,  and  under  skilful  treatment  the 
fever  within  a  few  days  gave  place  to  the  first  deep 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  457 

happiness  he  had  ever  known.  Grace  was  tender, 
considerate,  her  own  former  self,  and  with  some- 
thing sweeter  to  him  than  self-sacrifice  in  her  eyes  ; 
and  he  gave  himself  up  to  an  unspeakable  content. 

It  was  she  who  wrote  the  home  letters  that  week, 
and  a  wondrous  tale  they  told  to  the  two  old  peo- 
ple, who  subsisted  on  foreign  news  even  more  than 
on  Aunt  Sheba's  delicate  cookery. 

Graham  was  soon  out  again,  but  he  looked  older 
and  more  broken  than  his  wife,  who  seemingly  had 
passed  by  age  into  a  bloom  that  could  not  fade. 
She  decided  that  for  his  sake  they  would  pass  the 
winter  in  Italy,  and  that  he  should  show  her  again 
as  a  woman  what  he  had  tried  to  interest  her  in  as  a 
child.  Her  happiness,  although  often  deeply  shad- 
owed, grew  in  its  quiet  depths.  Graham  had  too 
much  tact  to  be  an  ardent  lover.  He  was  rather 
her  stanch  friend,  her  genial  but  most  considerate 
companion.  His  powerful  human  love  at  last  kin- 
dled a  quiet  flame  on  the  hearth  of  her  own  heart 
that  had  so  long  been  cold,  and  her  Hfe  was  warmed 
and  revived  by  it.  He  also  proved  in  picture  gal- 
leries and  cathedrals  that  he  had  seen  much  when 
he  was  abroad  beyond  wild  mountain  regions  and 
wilder  people,  and  her  mind,  seemingly  strengthened 
by  its  long  sleep,  followed  his  vigorous  criticism 
with  daily  increasing  zest. 

The  soft,  sun-lighted  air  of  Italy  appeared  to 
have  a  healing  balm  for  both,  and  even  to  poor 
Grace  there  came  a  serenity  which  she  had  not 
known  since  the  "  cloud  in  the  South"  first  cast  its 
shadow  over  her  distant  hearth. 


45S  HIS   SOMBRE   RIVALS. 

To  Graham  at  last  there  had  come  a  respite  from 
pain  and  fear,  a  deep  content.  His  inner  life  had 
been  too  impoverished,  and  his  nature  too  chastened 
by  stern  and  bitter  experience,  for  him  to  crave 
gayety  and  exuberant  sentiment  in  his  wife.  Her 
quiet  face,  in  which  now  was  the  serenity  of  rest, 
and  not  the  tranquillity  of  death  in  life,  grew  daily 
more  lovely  to  him  ;  and  he  was  not  without  his 
human  pride  as  he  saw  the  beauty-loving  Italians 
look  wonderingly  at  her.  She  in  turn  was  pleased 
to  observe  how  he  impressed  cultivated  people  with 
his  quiet  power,  with  a  presence  that  so  varied  an 
experience  had  combined  to  create.  Among  fine 
minds,  men  and  women  are  more  truly  felt  than 
seen.  We  meet  people  of  the  plainest  appearance 
and  most  unostentatious  manner,  and  yet  without 
effort  they  compel  us  to  recognize  their  superiority, 
while  those  who  seek  to  impress  others  with  their 
importance  are  known  at  once  to  be  weak  and  insig- 
nificant. 

It  was  also  a  source  of  deep  gratification  to  Grace 
to  see  that  now,  since  her  husband  had  obtained 
rest  of  mind,  he  turned  naturally  to  healthful  busi- 
ness interests.  Her  own  affairs,  of  which  he  had 
charge  in  connection  with  Hilland's  lawyer,  were 
looked  after  and  explained  fully  to  her  ;  and  his 
solicitude  for  Henry  Anderson's  success  led  to  an 
exchange  of  letters  with  increasing  frequency. 
Much  business  relating  to  the  Virginia  plantation 
was  transacted  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Grace  sought  to  quiet  her  compunctions  at  leaving 
her  father  and  Mrs.  Mayburn  so  long  by  frequent 


MARRIED    UNCONSCIOUSLY.  459 

letters  written  in  her  dear  old  style,  by  cases  of  Ital- 
ian wines,  delicate  and  rare  ;  exquisite  fabrics  of  the 
loom,  and  articles  of  virtu  ;  and  between  the  letters 
and  the  gifts  the  old  people  held  high  carnival  after 
their  quaint  fashion  all  that  winter. 

The  soft  Italian  days  lapsed  one  after  another, 
like  bright  smiles  on  the  face  of  nature  ;  but  at  last 
there  came  one  on  which  Grace  leaned  her  head 
upon  her  husband's  shoulder  and  whispered,  "  Al- 
ford,  take  me  home,  please." 

Had  he  cared  for  her  before,  when  she  was  as 
helpless  as  a  little  child  ?  Jinny,  in  recalling  that 
journey  and  in  dilating  on  the  wonders  of  her  ex- 
perience abroad,  by  which  she  invariably  struck  awe 
into  the  souls  of  Aunt  Sheba  and  Iss,  would  roll  up 
her  eyes,  and  turn  outward  the  palms  of  her  hands, 
as  she  exclaimed,  **  Good  Lor',  you  niggers,  how  I 
make  you  'prehen'  Mas'r  Graham's  goin's  on  from 
de  night  he  sez,  sez  he  ter  me,  '  Pack  up,  Jinny  ; 
we'se  a  gwine  straight  home.'  Iss  'clares  dat  Mas'r 
Graham's  a  ter'ble  soger  wid  his  long,  straight 
sword  and  pistol,  an'  dat  he's  laid  out  more  'Feder- 
ates dan  he  can  shake  a  stick  at.  Well,  you'd  neb- 
ber  b'lieve  he'd  a  done  wuss  dan  say,  '  How  d'ye  ' 
to  a  'Federate  ef  yer'd  seen  how  he  'volved  roun' 
Missy  Grace.  He  wouldn't  let  de  sun  shine  on  her, 
nor  de  win'  blow  near  her,  and  eberybody  had  ter 
git  right  up  an'  git  ef  she  eben  wanted  ter  sneeze. 
On  de  ship  he  had  eberybody,  from  de  cap'n  to  de 
cabin-boys,  a  waitin'  on  her.  Dey  all  said  we  hab 
a  mighty  quiet  v'yage,  but  Lor'  bress  yer  !  it  was 
all   'long  ob   Mas'r  Graham.     He  wouldn't  let  no 


460  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

wabes  run  ter  pitch  his  darlin'  roun'.  Missy  Grace, 
she  used  ter  sit  an'  larf  an'  larf  at  'im, — bress  her 
dear  heart,  how  much  good  it  do  me  to  hear  de 
honey  larf  like  her  ole  dear  self  !  Her  moder  used 
ter  be  mighty  keerful  on  her,  but  'twan't  nothin' 
'pared  ter  Mas'r  Graham's  goin's  on." 

Jinny  had  never  heard  of  Baron  Munchausen,  but 
her  accounts  of  foreign  experiences  and  scenes  were 
much  after  the  type  of  that  famous  raconteur ;  and 
by  each  repetition  her  stories  seemed  to  make  a 
portentous  growth.  There  was,  however,  a  resi- 
duum of  truth  in  all  her  marvels.  The  event  which 
she  so  vaguely  foreshadowed  by  ever-increasing 
clouds  of  words  took  place.  In  June,  when  the 
nests  around  the  cottage  were  full  of  little  birds, 
there  was  also,  in  a  downy,  nestlike  cradle,  a  minia- 
ture of  sweet  Grace  Graham  ;  and  Jinny  thenceforth 
was  the  oracle  of  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

RITA    ANDERSON. 

THE  belief  of  children  that  babies  are  brought 
from  heaven  seems  often  verified  by  the  ex- 
periences that  follow  their  advent.  And  truly  the 
baby  at  the  St.  John  cottage  was  a  heavenly  gift, 
even  to  the  crotchety  old  major,  whom  it  kept 
awake  at  night  by  its  unseasonable  complaints  of 
the  evils  which  it  encountered  in  spite  of  Grandma 
Mayburn,  faithful  old  Aunt  Sheba,  who  pleaded  to 
be  its  nurse,  and  the  gentle  mother,  who  bent  over 
it  with  a  tenderness  new  and  strange  even  to  her 
heart. 

She  could  laugh  now,  and  laugh  she  would,  when 
6raham,  with  a  trepidation  never  felt  in  battle,  took 
the  tiny  morsel  of  humanity,  and  paraded  up  and 
down  the  library.  Lying  back  on  the  sofa  in  one  of 
her  dainty  wrappers,  she  would  cry,  "  Look  at  him, 
papa  ;  look  at  that  grim  cavalry  man,  and  think  of 
his  leading  a  charge  !" 

"  Well,  Gracie,  dear,"  the  old  major  would  reply, 
chuckling  at  his  well-worn  joke,  "  the  colonel  was 
only  a  cavalry  man,  you  know.  He's  not  up  in  in- 
fantry tactics." 


462  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

One  morning  Grandma  Mayburn  opened  a  high 
conclave  in  regard  to  the  baby's  name,  and  sought 
to  settle  the  question  in  advance  by  saying,  "  Of 
course  it  should  be  Grace." 

"  Indeed,  madam,"  differed  the  major,  gallantly, 
"  I  think  it  should  be  named  after  its  grandmother." 

Grace  lifted  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  her  husband, 
who  stood  regarding  what  to  him  was  the  Madonna 
and  child. 

"  I  have  already  named  her,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"You,  you  !"  cried  his  aunt,  brusquely.  "  I'd 
have  you  know  that  this  is  an  affair  for  grave  and 
general  deliberation." 

"  Alford  shall  have  his  way,"  said  the  mother, 
with  quiet  emphasis,  looking  down  at  the  child,  while 
pride  and  tenderness  blended  sweetly  in  her  face. 

"  Her  name  is  Hilda,  in  memory  of  the  noblest 
man  and  dearest  friend  I  have  ever  known." 

Instantly  she  raised  her  eyes,  brimming  with 
tears,  to  his,  and  faltered,  "  Thank  you,  Alford  ;" 
and  she  clasped  the  child  almost  convulsively  to  her 
breast,  proving  that  there  was  one  love  which  no 
other  could  obliterate. 

"  That's  right,  dear  Grace.  Link  her  name  with 
the  memory  of  Warren.  She  will  thus  make  you 
happier,  and  it's  my  wish." 

The  conclave  ended  at  once.  The  old  major  took 
off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  Mrs.  May- 
burn  stole  away. 

From  that  hour  little  Hilda  pushed  sorrow  from 
Grace's  heart  with  her  baby  hands,  as  nothing  had 
ever  done  before,  and  the  memory  of  the  lost  hus- 


RITA    ANDERSON.  463 

band  ceased  to  be  a  shadow  in  the  background. 
The  innocent  young  life  was  associated  with  his, 
and  loved  the  more  intensely. 

Graham  had  spoken  from  the  impulse  of  a  gen- 
erous nature,  too  large  to  feel  the  miserable  jealous- 
ies that  infest  some  minds  ;  but  he  had  spoken  more 
wisely  than  he  knew.  Thereafter  there  was  a  ten- 
derness in  Grace's  manner  toward  him  which  he  had 
never  recognized  before.  He  tasted  a  happiness  of 
which  he  had  never  dreamed,  alloyed  only  by  the 
thought  that  his  treasures  were  mortal  and  frail. 
But  as  the  little  one  thrived,  and  his  wife  bloomed 
into  the  most  exquisite  beauty  seen  in  this  world, 
that  of  young  and  happy  motherhood,  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  his  deep  content,  believing  that  fate  at 
last  was  appeased.  The  major  grew  even  hilarious, 
and  had  his  morning  and  evening  parades,  as  he 
called  them,  when  the  baby,  in  its  laces  and  soft 
draperies,  was  brought  for  his  inspection.  Mrs. 
Mayburn,  with  all  the  accumulated  maternal  yearn- 
ings of  her  heart  satisfied,  would  preside  at  the  cere- 
mony. Grace,  happy  and  proud,  would  nod  and 
smile  over  her  shoulder  at  her  husband,  who  made  a 
poor  pretence  of  reading  his  paper,  while  the  old 
veteran  deliberately  adjusted  his  spectacles  and 
made  comments  that  in  their  solemn  drollery  and 
military  jargon  were  irresistible  to  the  household 
that  could  now  laugh  so  easily.  The  young  life  that 
had  come  had  brought  a  new  life  to  them  all,  and 
the  dark  shadows  of  the  past  shrank  farther  and 
farther  into  the  background. 

But  they  were  there, — all   the   sad   mysteries  of 


464  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

evil  that  had  crushed  the  mother's  heart.  Once 
they  seemed  to  rush  forward  and  close  around  her. 
Little  Hilda  was  ill,  and  Grace  in  terror.  But  Dr. 
Markham  speedily  satisfied  her  that  it  was  a  trivial 
matter,  and  proved  it  to  be  so  by  his  remedies. 
The  impression  of  danger  remained,  however,  and 
she  clung  to  her  little  idol  more  closely  than  ever  ; 
and  this  was  true  of  all. 

Time  sped  tranquilly  on.  Hilda  grew  in  endear- 
ing ways,  and  began  to  have  knowing  looks  and 
smiles  for  each.  Her  preference  for  her  grandfather 
with  his  great  frosty  eyebrows  pleased  the  old  gen- 
tleman immensely.  It  was  both  droll  and  touching 
to  observe  how  one  often  so  irascible  would 
patiently  let  her  take  off  his  spectacles,  toy  with 
and  often  pull  his  gray  locks,  and  rumple  his  old- 
fashioned  rufifles,  which  he  persisted  in  wearing  on 
state  occasions.  It  was  also  silently  noted  that  the 
veteran  never  even  verged  toward  profanity  in  the 
presence  of  the  child. 

Each  new  token  of  intelligence  was  hailed  with  a 
delight  of  which  natures  coarse  or  blunted  never 
know.  The  Wise  Men  of  old  worshipped  the  Babe 
in  the  manger,  and  sadly  defective  or  perverted  in 
their  organizations  are  those  who  do  not  see  some- 
thing divine  in  a  little  innocent  child. 

Henry  and  Rita  Anderson,  at  the  urgent  solicita- 
tion of  Graham  and  his  wife,  came  on  in  the  autumn 
to  make  a  visit,  and,  by  a  very  strange  coincidence, 
Graham's  favorite  captain,  a  manly,  prosperous  fel- 
low, happened  to  be  visiting  him  at  the  time.  By 
a  still  more  remarkable  conjunction  of  events,  he  at 


RITA   ANDERSON,  465 

once  shared  in  his  former  colonel's  admiration  of 
the  dark-eyed  Southern  girl.  She  was  very  shy, 
distant,  and  observant  at  first,  for  this  fortuitous 
captain  was  a  Northerner.  But  the  atmosphere  of 
the  two  cottages  was  not  in  the  least  conducive  to 
coolness  and  reserve.  The  wood  fires  that  crackled 
on  the  hearth,  or  something  else,  thawed  percepti- 
bly the  spirited  girl.  Moreover,  there  were  walks, 
drives,  horseback  excursions,  daily  ;  and  Iss  shone 
forth  in  a  glory  of  which  he  had  never  dreamed  as  a 
plantation  hand.  There  were  light  steps  passing  to 
and  fro,  light  laughter,  cheery,  hearty  voices, — in 
which  the  baby's  crowing  and  cooing  were  heard  as 
a  low,  sweet  chord, — music  and  whist  to  the  major's 
infinite  content.  The  shadows  shrank  farther  into 
the  background  than  ever  before.  No  one  thought 
of  or  heeded  them  now  ;  but  they  were  there, 
cowering  and  waiting. 

Only  Aunt  Sheba  was  ill  at  ease.  Crooning  her 
quaint  lullabies  to  the  baby,  she  would  often  lift  her 
eyes  to  heaven  and  sigh,  "  De  good  Lord  hab  marcy 
on  dem  !  Dey's  all  a  drinkin'  at  de  little  shaller 
pools  that  may  dry  up  any  minit.  It's  all  ob  de 
earth  ;  it's  all  ob  tings,  nothin'  but  tings  which  de 
eyes  can  see  and  de  ban's  can  touch.  De  good 
Lord  lift  dar  eyes  from  de  earth  widout  takin'  dat 
mos'  dear  !" 

But  no  one  thought  of  old  Aunt  Sheba  except  as 
a  faithful  creature  born  to  serve  them  in  her  humble 
way. 

The  Northern  captain  soon  proved  that  he  had 
not  a  little  Southern  dash  and  ardor,  and  he  had 


466  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

already  discovered  that  his  accidental  visit  to  Gra- 
ham was  quite  providential,  as  he  had  been  taught 
to  regard  events  that  promised  favorably.  He  very 
significantly  asked  Colonel  Anderson  to  take  a 
gallop  with  him  one  morning,  but  they  had  not 
galloped  far  before  he  halted  and  plumply  asked  the 
brother's  permission,  as  the  present  representative 
of  her  father,  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Rita.  Now 
Captain  Windom  had  made  a  good  impression  on 
the  colonel,  which  Graham,  in  a  very  casual  way, 
had  been  at  pains  to  strengthen  ;  and  he  came  back 
radiant  over  one  point  gained.  But  he  was  more 
afraid  of  that  little  Virginian  girl  than  he  had  ever 
been  of  all  her  Southern  compatriots.  He  felt  that 
he  must  forego  his  cavalry  tactics  and  open  a  regu- 
lar siege  ;  but  she,  with  one  flash  of  her  mirthful 
eyes,  saw  through  it  all,  laughed  over  it  with  Grace, 
whom  from  worshipping  as  a  saint  she  now  loved  as 
a  sister.  Amid  the  pauses  in  their  mutual  worship 
of  the  baby,  they  talked  the  captain  over  in  a  way 
that  would  have  made  his  ears  tingle  could  he  have 
heard  them  ;  but  Grace,  underneath  all  her  good- 
natured  criticism,  seconded  her  husband's  efforts 
with  a  mature  woman's  tact.  Rita  should  be  made 
happy  in  spite  of  all  her  little  perversities  and 
Southern  prejudices,  and  yet  the  hands  that  guided 
and  helped  her  should  not  be  seen. 

The  captain  soon  abandoned  his  siege  tactics,  in 
which  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  resumed  his  old  habit' 
of  impetuous  advances  in  which  Graham  had  trained 
him.  Time  was  growing  short.  His  visit  and  hers 
would  soon  be  over.     He  became  so  downright  and 


RITA   ANDERSON.  467 

desperately  in  earnest  that  the  little  girl  began  to  be 
frightened.  It  was  no  laughing  matter  now,  and 
Grace  looked  grave  over  the  affair.  Then  Rita 
began  to  be  very  sorry  for  him,  and  at  last,  through 
Graham's  unwonted  awkwardness  and  inattention  to 
his  guests,  the  captain  and  Rita  were  permitted  to 
take  a  different  road  from  the  others  on  an  eques- 
trian party.  When  they  appeared  the  captain 
looked  as  if  he  were  returning  from  a  successful 
charge,  and  Rita  was  as  shy  and  blushing  as  one  of 
the  wild  roses  of  her  native  hills.  She  fled  to 
Grace's  room,  as  if  it  were  the  only  refuge  left  in 
the  world,  and  her  first  breathless  words  were  :  "  I 
haven't  promised  anything, — that  is,  nothing  defi- 
nite. I  said  he  might  come  and  see  me  in  Virginia 
and  talk  to  papa  about  it,  and  I'd  think  it  over, 
and — and—  Well,  he  was  so  impetuous  and  ear- 
nest !  Good  heavens  !  I  thought  the  Northern  peo- 
ple were  cold,  but  that  captain  fairly  took  away  my 
breath.     You  never  heard  a  man  talk  so." 

Grace  had  put  down  the  baby,  and  now  stood 
with  her  arm  around  her  friend,  smiling  the  sweetest 
encouragement. 

"  I'll  explain  it  all  to  you.  Miss  Rita,"  began 
Graham's  deep  voice,  as  he  advanced  from  a  recess. 

"  O  the  powers  !  are  you  here  ?"  and  she  started 
back  and  looked  at  him  with  dismay. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  I  merely  wished  to  explain 
that  my  friend  Windom  was  in  the  cavalry,  and 
from  much  fighting  with  your  brave,  impetuous 
hard-riders  we  gradually  fell  into  their  habits." 

"  I  half  believe  that  you  are  laughing  at  me, — 


468  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

that  you  are  in  league  with  him,  and  have  been  all 
along." 

"Yes,  Rita,  noble  little  woman,  truest  friend  at 
the  time  of  my  bitter  need,  I  am  in  league  with  any 
man  worthy  of  you, — that  is,  as  far  as  a  man  can  be 
who  seeks  to  make  you  happy  ;"  and  he  took  her 
hand  and  held  it  warmly. 

"  Here  come  my  silly  tears  again,"  and  she 
dashed  them  to  right  and  left.  Then,  looking  up 
at  him  shyly,  she  faltered,  "  I  must  admit  that  I'm 
a  little  bit  happy." 

"  I  vowed  you  should  be,  all  through  that  dark 
ride  on  which  you  led  me  away  from  cruel  enemies  ; 
and  every  flower  you  have  placed  on  the  grave  of 
that  noble  man  that  Grace  and  I  both  loved  has 
added  strength  to  my  vow." 

"  O  Rita,  Rita,  darling  !"  cried  Grace,  clasping 
her  in  close  embrace  ;  "  do  you  think  we  ever  for- 
get it?" 

"  Can  you  think,  Rita,  that  in  memory  of  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  day  I  would  give  Captain 
Windom  the  opportunities  he  has  enjoyed  if  I  did 
not  think  he  would  make  you  happy  ?  One  cannot 
live  and  fight  side  by  side  with  a  man  for  years  and 
not  know  his  mettle.  He  was  lion-like  in  battle, 
but  he  will  ever  be  gentleness  itself  toward  you. 
Best  of  all,  he  will  appreciate  you,  and  I  should 
feel  like  choking  any  fellow  who  didn't." 

"  But  indeed,  indeed,  I  haven't  promised  any- 
thing ;  I  only  said — " 

**  No  matter  what  you  said,  my  dear,  so  long  as 
the  captain  knows.     We  are  well  assured  that  your 


RITA   ANDERSON.  469 

every  word  and  thought  and  act  were  true  and 
maidenly.  Let  Windom  visit  you  and  become  ac- 
quainted with  your  father.  The  more  you  all  see  of 
him  the  more  you  will  respect  him." 

"You  are  wonderfully  reassuring,"  said  the 
young  girl,  "and  I  learned  to  trust  you  long  ago. 
Indeed,  after  your  course  toward  Henry,  I  believe 
I'd  marry  any  one  you  told  me  to.  But  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  have  felt,  for  the  last  few  hours,  as  if  caught 
up  by  a  whirlwind  and  landed  I  don't  know  where. 
No  one  ever  need  talk  to  me  any  more  about  cold- 
blooded Northerners.  Well,  I  must  land  at  the 
dinner-table  before  long,  and  so  must  go  and  dress. 
It's  proper  to  eat  under  the  circumstances,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  I  expect  to,"  said  Graham,  laughing,  "  and  I'm 
more  in  love  than  you  are." 

"  Little  wonder  !"  with  a  glance  of  ardent  admir- 
ation toward  Grace,  and  she  whisked  out.  In  a 
moment  she  returned  and  said,  "  Now,  colonel,  I 
must  be  honest,  especially  as  I  think  of  your  vow  in 
the  dark  woods.  I  am  very,  very  happy  ;"  and 
then  in  a  meteoric  brilliancy  of  smiles,  tears,  and 
excitement,  she  vanished. 

On  the  day  following  Captain  Windom  marched 
triumphantly  away,  and  his  absence  proved  to  Rita 
that  the  question  was  settled,  no  matter  what  she 
had  said  when  having  little  breath  left  to  say  any- 
thing. 

She  and  her  brother  followed  speedily,  and  Gra- 
ham accompanied  them,  to  superintend  in  person 
the  setting  up  of  a  beautiful  marble  column  which 
he  and  Grace  had  designed  for  Hilland's  grave. 


470  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

It  was  a  time  of  sad,  yet  chastened  memories  to 
both.  In  their  consciousness  Hiiland  had  ceased  to 
exist.  He  was  but  a  memory,  cherished  indeed 
with  an  indescribable  honor  and  love, — still  only  a 
memory.  There  was  an  immense  difference,  how- 
ever, in  the  thoughts  of  each  as  they  reverted  to  his 
distant  grave.  Graham  felt  that  he  had  there  closed 
a  chapter  of  his  life, — a  chapter  that  he  would  ever 
recall  with  the  deep  melancholy  that  often  broods  in 
the  hearts  of  the  happiest  of  men  whose  natures  are 
large  enough  to  be  truly  impressed  by  life's  vicissi- 
tudes. Grace  knew  that  her  girlhood,  her  former 
self,  was  buried  in  that  grave,  and  with  her  early 
lover  had  vanished  forever.  Graham  had,  in  a 
sense,  raised  her  from  the  dead.  His  boundless 
love  and  self-sacrifice,  his  indomitable  will,  had 
created  for  her  new  life,  different  from  the  old,  yet 
full  of  tranquil  joys,  new  hopes  and  interests.  He 
had  not  rent  the  new  from  the  old,  but  had  bridged 
with  generous  acts  the  existing  chasm.  He  was 
doing  all  within  his  power,  not  jealously  to  with- 
draw her  thoughts  from  that  terrible  past,  but  to 
veil  its  more  cruel  and  repulsive  features  with  flow- 
ers, laurel  wreaths,  and  sculptured  marble  ;  and  in 
her  heart,  which  had  been  dead,  but  into  which  his 
love  had  breathed  a  new  life,  she  daily  blessed  him 
with  a  deeper  affection. 

He  soon  returned  to  her  from  Virginia,  and  by 
his  vivid  descriptions  made  real  to  her  the  scenes  he 
had  visited.  He  told  her  how  Rita  and  her  brother 
had  changed  the  plot  in  which  slept  the  National 
and  the  Confederate  officer  into  a  little  garden  of 


RITA    ANDERSON.  47 1 

blossoming  greenery  ;  how  he  had  arranged  with 
Colonel  Anderson  to  place  a  fitting  monument  over 
the  young  Confederate  officer,  whose  friends  had 
been  impoverished  by  the  war  ;  and  he  kissed  away 
the  tears,  no  longer  bitter  and  despairing,  evoked 
by  the  memories  his  words  recalled.  Then,  in 
lighter  vein,  he  described  the  sudden  advent  of  the 
impetuous  captain  ;  the  consternation  of  the  little 
housekeeper,  who  was  not  expecting  him  so  soon  ; 
her  efforts  to  improvise  a  feast  for  the  man  who 
would  blissfully  swallow  half  -  baked  "  pones"  if 
served  by  her  ;  her  shy  presentation  of  her  lover  to 
the  venerable  clergyman,  which  he  and  Henry  had 
witnessed  on  the  veranda  through  the  half-closed 
blinds,  and  the  fond  old  man's  immense  surprise 
that  his  little  Rita  should  have  a  lover  at  all. 

My  dear  sir,'  he  said,  '  this  is  all  very  prema- 
ture. You  must  wait  for  the  child  to  grow  up  before 
imbuing  her  mind  with  thoughts  beyond  her  years.' 

"  *  My  dear  Dr.  Anderson,'  had  pleaded  the 
adroit  Windom,  *  I  will  wait  indefinitely,  and  submit 
to  any  conditions  that  you  and  Miss  Rita  impose. 
If  already  she  has  impressed  me  so  deeply,  time  can 
only  increase  my  respect,  admiration,  and  affection, 
if  that  were  possible.  Before  making  a  single  effort 
to  win  your  daughter's  regard,  I  asked  permission 
of  her  brother,  since  you  were  so  far  away.  I  have 
not  sought  to  bind  her,  but  have  only  revealed  the  ^ 
deep  feeling  which  she  has  inspired,  and  I  now  come 
to  ask  your  sanction  also  to  my  addresses. ' 

"  *  Your  conduct,'  replied  the  old  gentleman,  un- 
bending urbanely  toward  the  young  man,  '  is  both 


472  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS, 

honorable  and  considerate.  Of  course  you  know 
that  my  child's  happiness  is  my  chief  solicitude. 
If,  after  several  years,  when  Rita's  mind  has  grown 
more  mature,  her  judgment  confirms — ' 

"  Here  Rita  made  a  little  vioue  which  only  her  red 
lips  could  form,  and  Henry  and  I  took  refuge  in  a 
silent  and  precipitate  retreat,  lest  our  irreverent 
mirth  should  offend  the  blind  old  father,  to  whom 
Rita  is  his  little  Rita  still.  You  know  well  how 
many  years,  months  rather,  Windom  will  wait. 

"  Well,  I  left  the  little  girl  happier  than  the  day 
was  long,  for  I  believe  her  eyes  sparkle  all  through 
the  night  under  their  long  lashes.  As  for  Windom, 
he  is  in  the  seventh  heaven.  '  My  latest  campaign 
in  Virginia,'  he  whispered  to  me  as  I  was  about  to 
ride  away  ;  *  good  prospects  of  the  best  capture  yet 
won  from  the  Confederacy.'  " 

And  so  he  made  the  place  familiar  to  her,  with  its 
high  lights  and  deep  shadows,  and  its  characters 
real,  even  down  to  old  Jehu  and  his  son  Huey. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  LITTLE   CHILD   SHALL  LEAD   THEM. 

AUTUMN  merged  imperceptibly  into  winter, 
and  the  days  sped  tranquilly  on.  With  the 
exception  of  brief  absences  on  business,  Graham  was 
mostly  at  home,  for  there  was  no  place  like  his  own 
hearth.  His  heart,  so  long  denied  happiness,  was 
content  only  at  the  side  of  his  wife  and  child.  The 
shadows  of  the  past  crouched  farther  away  than 
ever,  but  even  their  own  health  and  prosperity,  their 
happiness,  and  the  reflected  happiness  of  others 
could  not  banish  them  wholly.  The  lights  which 
burned  so  brightly  around  them,  like  the  fire  on 
their  hearth,  had  been  kindled  and  were  fed  by 
human  hands  only,  and  were  ever  liable  to  die  out. 
The  fuel  that  kept  them  burning  was  the  best  that 
earth  afforded,  but  the  supply  had  its  inherent 
limitations.  Each  new  tranquil  day  increased  the 
habitual  sense  of  security.  Graham  was  busy  with 
plans  of  a  large  agricultural  enterprise  in  Virginia. 
The  more  he  saw  of  Henry  Anderson  the  more  he 
appreciated  his  sterling  integrity  and  fine  business 
capabilities,  and  from  being  an  agent  he  had  be- 
come a  partner.  Grace's  writing-desk,  at  which 
Graham  had  cast  a  wistful  glance  the  first  time  he 


474  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

had  seen  it,  was  often  covered  with  maps  of  the 
Virginia  plantation,  which  he  proposed  to  develop 
into  its  best  capabilities.  Grace  had  a  cradle  by  the 
library  fire  as  well  as  in  her  room.  Beside  this  the 
adopted  grandmother  knitted  placidly,  and  the 
major  rustled  his  paper  softly  lest  he  should  waken 
the  little  sleeper.  Grace,  who  persisted  in  making 
all  of  her  little  one's  dainty  plumage  herself,  would 
lift  her  eyes  from  time  to  time,  full  of  genuine  in- 
terest in  his  projects  and  his  in  plans  for  a  dwelling 
on  the  plantation,  which  should  be  built  according 
to  her  taste  and  constructed  for  her  convenience. 

The  shadows  had  never  been  farther  away.  Even 
old  Aunt  Sheba  was  lulled  into  security.  Into  her 
bereaved  heart,  as  into  the  hearts  of  all  the  others 
the  baby  crept  ;  and  she  grew  so  bewitching  with 
her  winsome  ways,  so  absorbing  in  her  many  little 
wants  and  her  need  of  watching,  as  with  the  dawn- 
ing spirit  of  curiosity  she  sought  to  explore  for  her- 
self what  was  beyond  the  cradle  and  the  door,  that 
Aunt  Sheba,  with  the  doting  mother,  thought  of 
Hilda  during  all  waking  hours  and  dreamt  of  her  in 
sleep. 

At  last  the  inconstant  New  England  spring  passed 
away,  and  June  came  with  its  ever-new  heritage  of 
beauty.  The  baby's  birthday  was  to  be  the  grand 
fete  of  the  year,  and  the  little  creature  seemed  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion.  She  could  now 
call  her  parents  and  grandparents  by  name,  and  talk 
to  them  in  her  pretty  though  senseless  jargon, 
which  was  to  them  more  precious  than  the  wisdom 
of  Solomon. 


A   LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL   LEAD  THEM.         475 

It  was  a  day  of  roses  and  rose-colors.  Roses 
banked  the  mantelpieces,  wreathed  the  cradle, 
crowned  the  table  at  which  Hilda  sat  in  state  in  her 
high  chair,  a  fairy  form  in  gossamer  laces,  with  dark 
eyes — Grace's  eyes — that  danced  with  the  unre- 
strained dehght  of  a  child. 

"  She  looks  just  like  my  little  Grace  of  long,  long 
years  ago,"  said  the  major,  with  wistful  eyes; 
"  and  yet.  Colonel,  it  seems  but  yesterday  that  your 
wife  was  the  image  of  that  laughing  little  witch 
yonder." 

"  Well,  I  can  believe,"  admitted  Grandma  May- 
burn,  "  that  Grace  was  as  pretty, — a  tremendous 
compliment  to  you,  Grace, — but  there  never  was 
and  never  will  be  another  baby  as  pretty  and  cun- 
ning as  our  Hilda." 

The  good  old  lady  never  spoke  of  the  child  as 
Grace's  baby.  It  was  always  "  ours."  In  Graham, 
Grace,  and  especially  Hilda,  she  had  her  children 
about  her,  and  the  mother-need  in  her  heart  was 
satisfied. 

"  Yes,  Hilda  darling,"  said  the  colonel  with  fond 
eyes,  "  you  have  begun  well.  You  could  not  please 
me  more  than  by  looking  like  your  mother  ;  the 
next  thing  is  to  grow  like  her." 

"  Poor  blind  papa,  with  the  perpetual  glamour  on 
his  eyes  !  He  will  never  see  his  old  white-haired 
wife  as  she  is." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  perfect  features  with  the 
bloom  of  health  upon  them,  into  her  dark  eyes  with 
their  depths  of  motherly  pride  and  joy,  at  her 
snowy  neck  and   ivory   arms  bare  to  the  summer 


476  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

heat,  and  longest  at  the  wavy  silver  of  her  hair, 
that  crowned  her  beauty  with  an  almost  supernat- 
ural charm. 

"  Don't  I  see  you  as  you  are,  Grace  ?"  he  said. 
"Well,  I  am  often  spellbound  by  what  I  do  see. 
If  Hilda  becomes  like  you,  excepting  your  sorrows;- 
my  dearest  wish  in  her  behalf  will  be  fulfilled." 

Old  Aunt  Sheba,  standing  behind  the  baby's 
chair,  felt  a  chill  at  heart  as  she  thought,  "  Dey'se 
all  a  worshippin'  de  chile  and  each  oder,  I  sees  it 
so  plain  dat  I'se  all  ob  a  tremble." 

Surely  the  dark  shadows  of  the  past  have  no  place 
near  that  birthday  feast,  but  they  are  coming 
nearer,  closing  in,  remorseless,  relentless  as  ever, 
and  among  them  are  the  gloomy  rivals  against  whom 
Graham  struggled  so  long.  He  thought  he  had 
vanquished  them,  but  they  are  stealing  upon  him 
again  like  vindictive,  unforgiving  savages. 

There  was  a  jar  of  thunder  upon  the  still  air,  but 
it  was  not  heeded.  The  room  began  to  darken,  but 
they  thought  only  of  a  shower  that  would  banish 
the  sultriness  of  the  day.  Darker  shadows  than 
those  of  thunder-clouds  were  falling  upon  them,  had 
they  known  it. 

The  wine  was  brought,  and  the  health  of  the  baby 
drank.  Then  Graham,  ordering  all  glasses  to  be 
filled,  said  reverently  :  "  To  the  memory  of  Warren 
Hilland  !  May  the  child  who  is  named  for  him 
ever  remind  us  of  his  noble  life  and  heroic  death." 

They  drank  in  silence,  then  put  down  the  glasses 
and  sat  for  moments  with  bowed  heads,  Grace's 
tears  falling  softly.     Without,  nature  seemed  equally 


A   LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL  LEAD  THEM.        477 

hushed.  Not  a  breath  stirred  the  sultry  air,  until 
at  last  a  heavier  and  nearer  jar  of  thunder  vibrated 
in  the  distance. 

The  unseen  shadows  are  closing  around  the  little 
Hilda,  whose  eyelids  are  heavy  with  satiety.  Aunt 
Sheba  is  about  to  take  her  from  her  chair,  when  a 
swift  gust,  cold  and  spray-laden,  rushes  through  the 
house,  crashing  to  the  doors  and  whirling  all  light 
articles  into  a  carnival  of  disorder. 

The  little  gossamer-clad  girl  shivered,  and,  while 
others  hastily  closed  windows,  Grace  ran  for  a  shawl 
in  which  to  wrap  her  darling. 

The  shower  passed,  bringing  welcome  coolness. 
Hilda  slept  quietly  through  its  turmoil  and  swishing 
torrents, — slept  on  into  the  twilight,  until  Aunt 
Sheba  seemed  a  shadow  herself.  But  there  were 
darker  shadows  brooding  over  her. 

Suddenly,  in  her  sleep,  the  child  gave  an  ominous 
barking  cough. 

"  O  de  good  Lor'  !"  cried  Aunt  Sheba,  springing 
to  her  feet.  Then  with  a  swiftness  in  which  there 
was  no  sign  of  age,  she  went  to  the  landing  and 
called,  "  Mas'r  Graham." 

Grace  was  in  "the  room  before  him.  "  What  is 
it  ?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"Well,  Missy  Grace,  don't  be  'larmed,  but  I 
tinks  Mas'r  Graham  'ud  better  sen'  for  de  doctor, 
jes'  for  caution  like." 

Again  came  that  peculiar  cough,  terror-inspiring 
to  all  mothers. 

"  Alford,  Alford,  lose  not  a  moment  !"  she  cried. 
**  It's  the  croup." 


478  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

The  soldier  acted  as  if  his  camp  were  attacked  at 
midnight.  There  were  swift  feet,  the  trampling  of 
a  horse  ;  and  soon  the  skill  of  science,  the  experi- 
ence of  age,  and  motherly  tenderness  confronted 
the  black  shadows,  but  they  remained  immovable. 

The  child  gasped  and  struggled  for  life.  Grace, 
half  frantic,  followed  the  doctor's  directions  with 
trembling  hands,  seeking  to  do  everything  for  her 
idol  herself  as  far  as  possible.  Mrs.  Mayburn,  gray, 
grim,  with  face  of  ashen  hue,  hovered  near  and 
assisted.  Aunt  Sheba,  praying  often  audibly, 
proved  by  her  deft  hands  that  the  experience  of  her 
long-past  motherhood  was  of  service  now.  The 
servants  gathered  at  the  door,  eager  and  impatient 
to  do  something  for  **  de  bressed  chile."  The  poor 
old  major  thumped  restlessly  back  and  forth  on  his 
crutches  in  the  hall  below,  half  swearing,  half  pray- 
ing. Dr.  Markham,  pale  with  anxiety,  but  cool 
and  collected  as  a  veteran  general  in  battle,  put 
forth  his  whole  skill  to  baffle  the  destroyer.  Gra- 
ham, standing  in  the  background  with  clenched 
hands,  more  excited,  more  desperate  than  he  had 
ever  been  when  sitting  on  his  horse  waiting  for  the 
bugle  to  sound  the  charge,  watched  his  wife  and 
child  with  eyes  that  burned  in  the  intensity  of  his 
feeling. 

Time,  of  which  no  notice  was  taken,  passed, 
although  moments  seemed  like  hours.  The  child 
still  struggled  and  gasped,  but  more  and  more  fee- 
bly. At  last,  in  the  dawn,  the  little  Hilda  lay  still, 
looked  up  and  smiled.  Was  it  at  her  mother's  face, 
or  something  beyond  ? 


A   LITTLE  CHILD    SHALL   LEAD   THEM.         479 

"  She  is  better,"  cried  Grace,  turning  her  implor- 
ing eyes  to  the  physician,  who  held  the  little  hand. 

Alas  !  it  was  growing  cold  in  his.  He  turned 
quickly  to  Graham  and  whispered,  "Support  your 
wife.     The  end  is  near." 

He  came  mechanically  and  put  his  arm  around 
her.  "  Grace,  dear  Grace,"  he  faltered,  hoarsely, 
"  can  you  not  bear  this  sorrow  also  for  my  sake  ?" 

"  Alford  !"  she  panted  with  horror  in  her  tones, 
— "  Alford  !  why,  why,  her  hand  is  growing  cold  !" 

There  was  a  long  low  sigh  from  the  little  one,  and 
then  she  was  still. 

"  Take  your  wife  away,"  said  Dr.  Markham,  in  a 
low,  authoritative  tone. 

Graham  sought  to  obey  in  the  same  mechanical 
manner.  She  sprang  from  him  and  stood  aloof. 
There  was  a  terrible  light  in  her  eyes,  before  which 
he  quailed. 

"  Take  me  away  !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was 
hoarse,  strained,  and  unnatural.  "  Never  !  Tell 
me  the  belief  of  your  heart.  Have  I  lost  my  child 
forever  ?  Is  that  sweet  image  of  my  Hilda  nothing 
but  clay  ?  Is  there  nothing  further  for  this  idol  of 
my  heart  but  horrible  corruption  ?  If  this  is  true, 
no  more  learned  jargon  to  me  about  law  and  force  ! 
If  this  is  true,  I  am  the  creation  of  a  fiend  who,  with 
all  the  cruel  ingenuity  of  a  fiend  has  so  made  me 
that  he  can  inflict  the  utmost  degree  of  torture.  If 
this  is  true,  my  motherhood  is  a  lie,  and  good  is 
punished,  not  evil.  If  this  is  true,  there  is  neither 
God  nor  law,  but  only  a  devil.  But  let  me  have  the 
truth  :  have  I  lost  that  child  forever?" 


48o  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

He  was  dumb,  and  an  awful  silence  fell  upon  the 
chamber  of  death. 

Graham's  philosophy  failed  him  at  last.  His  own 
father-heart  could  not  accept  of  corruption  as  the 
final  end  of  his  child.  Indeed,  it  revolted  at  it  with 
a  resistless  rebound  as  something  horrible,  mon- 
strous, and,  as  his  wife  had  said,  devilish.  His  old 
laborious  reasoning  was  scorched  away  as  by  light- 
ning in  that  moment  of  intense  consciousness  when 
his  soul  told  him  that,  if  this  were  true,  his  nature 
also  was  a  lie  and  a  cheat.  He  knew  not  what  he 
believed,  or  what  was  true.  He  was  stunned  and 
speechless. 

Despair  was  turning  his  wife's  face  into  stone, 
when  old  Aunt  Sheba,  who  had  been  crouching, 
sobbing,  and  praying  at  the  foot  of  the  little  couch, 
rose  with  streaming  eyes  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  toward  the  desperate  mother. 

"  No,  Missy  Grace,"  she  cried,  in  tones  that  rang 
through  the  house  ;  "  no,  no,  no.  Your  chile  am 
not  lost  to  you  ;  your  chile  am  not  dead.  She  on'y 
sleeps.  Did  not  de  good  Lord  say,  '  Suffer  de  little 
chillen  ter  come  unter  me'  ?  An'  Hilda,  de  dear 
little  lamb,  hab  gone  ter  him,  an'  is  in  de  Good 
Shepherd's  arms.  Your  little  chile  am  not  lost  to 
you,  she's  safe  at  home,  de  dear  bressed  home  ob 
heben,  whar  your  moder  is,  Missy  Grace.  De  heb- 
enly  Father  say,  '  Little  Hilda,  you  needn't  walk  de 
long  flinty,  thorny  path  and  suffer  like  you'se  dear 
moder.  You  kin  come  home  now,  and  I'se'll  take 
keer  ob  ye  till  moder  comes.'  Bress  de  little  lamb, 
she  smile  when  de  angels  come  fer  her,  an'  she's 


A   LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL   LEAD   THEM.         48 1 

safe,  safe  forebermore.  No  tears  fer  little  Hilda, 
no  heartbreak  in  all  her  'ternal  life.  Dear  Missy 
Grace,  my  little  baby  die,  too,  but  I  hain't  los'  it. 
No,  no.  De  Good  Shepherd  is  a  keepin'  it  safe  fer 
me,  an'  I  shall  hab  my  baby  again." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  effect  of  this  pas- 
sionate utterance  of  faith  as  it  came  warm  and  direct 
•  from  the  heart  of  another  bereaved  mother,  whose 
lowliness  only  emphasized  the  universal  human  need 
of  something  more  than  negations  and  theories  of 
law  and  force.  The  major  heard  it  in  the  hall  be- 
low, and  was  awed.  Mrs.  Mayburn  and  the  ser- 
vants sobbed  audibly.  The  stony  look  went  out  of 
Grace's  face  ;  tears  welled  up  into  her  hot,  dry 
eyes,  and  she  drew  near  and  bent  over  her  child 
with  an  indescribable  yearning  in  her  face.  Aunt 
Sheba  ceased,  sank  down  on  the  floor,  and  throwing 
her  apron  over  her  face  she  rocked  back  and  forth 
and  prayed  as  before. 

Suddenly  Grace  threw  herself  on  the  unconscious 
little  form,  and  cried  with  a  voice  that  pierced  every 
heart:  "O  God,  I  turn  to  Thee,  then.  Is  my 
child  lost  to  me  forever,  or  is  she  in  Thy  keeping  ? 
Was  my  mother's  faith  true  ?  Shall  I  have  my  baby 
once  more  ?  Jesus,  art  Thou  a  Shepherd  of  the 
little  ones  ?  Hast  Thou  suffered  my  Hilda  to  come 
unto  Thee  ?  O,  if  Thou  art.  Thou  canst  reveal  Thy- 
self unto  me  and  save  a  broken-hearted  mother 
from  despair.  This  child  was  mine.  Is  it  mine 
still  ?"  and  she  clasped  her  baby  convulsively  to  her 
bosom. 

Suffer  de  little  chillen  ter  come  unter  me,  and 


482  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

forbid  dem  not,'  "  repeated  Aunt  Sheba  in  low 
tones. 

Again  a  deep,  awed  silence  fell  upon  them  all. 
Grace  knelt  so  long  with  her  own  face  pressed 
against  her  child's  that  they  thought  she  had  faint- 
ed. The  physician  motioned  Graham  to  lift  her  up, 
but  he  shook  his  head.  He  was  crushed  and  de- 
spairing, feeling  that  in  one  little  hour  he  had  lost 
the  belief  of  his  manhood,  the  child  that  had  brought 
into  his  home  a  heaven  that  he  at  least  could  under- 
stand, and  as  he  heard  his  wife's  bitter  cry  he  felt 
that  her  life  and  reason  might  soon  go  also.  He 
recognized  again  the  presence  of  his  bitter  rivals, 
Grief  and  Death,  and  felt  that  at  last  they  had  van- 
quished him.  He  had  not  the  courage  or  the  will 
to  make  another  effort. 

"  Mrs.  Graham,  for  your  husband's  sake — "  began 
Dr.  Markham. 

"Ah!  forgive  me,  Alford,"  she  said,  rising 
weakly  ;  "  I  should  not  have  forgotten  you  for  a 
moment." 

She  took  an  uncertain  step  toward  him,  and  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

Laying  her  head  upon  his  breast,  she  said  gently, 
"  Alford,  our  baby  is  not  dead." 

"  O  Grace,  darling  !"  he  cried  in  agony,  "  don't 
give  way,  or  we  are  both  lost.  I  have  no  strength 
left.  I  cannot  save  you  again.  Oh  !  if  the  awful 
past  should  comel)ack  !" 

"  It  now  can  never  come  back.  Alford,  we  have 
not  lost  our  child.  Aunt  Sheba  has  had  a  better 
wisdom  than  you  or  I,  and  from  this  hour  forth  my 


A   LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL  LEAD  THEM.        483 

mother's  faith  is  mine.  Do  not  think  me  wild  or 
wandering.  In  my  very  soul  has  come  the  answer 
to  my  cry.  Horrible  corruption  is  not  the  end  of 
that  lovely  life.  You  can't  believe  it,  any  more 
than  I.  Dear  little  sleeper,  you  are  still  my  baby. 
I  shall  go  to  you,  and  you  will  never  suffer  as  I 
have  suffered.  God  bless  you,  Aunt  Sheba  !  your 
heaven-inspired  words  have  saved  me  from  despair. 
Alford,  dear  Alford,  do  not  give  way  so  ;  I'll  live 
and  be  your  true  and  faithful  wife.  I'll  teach  you 
the  faith  that  God  has  taught  me." 

He  drew  long,  deep  breaths.  He  was  like  a  great 
ship  trying  to  right  itself  in  a  storm.  At  last  he 
said,  in  broken  tones,  "Grace,  you  are  right.  It's 
not  law  or  force.  It's  either  God,  who  in  some 
way  that  I  can't  understand,  will  bring  good  out  of 
all  this  evil,  or  else  it's  all  devilish,  fiendish.  If 
after  this  night  you  can  be  resigned,  patient,  hope- 
ful, your  faith  shall  be  mine." 

The  shadows,  affrighted,  shrank  farther  away  than 
ever  before. 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word,"  she  replied,  as  she 
drew  him  gently  away.  "  Come,  let  us  go  and 
comfort  papa." 

One  after  another  stole  out  after  them  until  Mrs. 
Mayburn  was  alone  with  the  dead.  Long  and  mo- 
tionless she  stood,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  quiet, 
lovely  face. 

"  Hilda,"  at  last  she  moaned,  "  little  Hilda,  shall 
poor  old  grandma  ever  see  our  baby  again  ?" 

At  that  moment  the  sun  rose  high  enough  to  send 
a  ray  through  the  lattice,  and  it  lighted  the  baby's 


484  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

face  with  what  seemed  a  smile  of  unearthly  sweet- 
ness. 

A  few  moments  later  Aunt  Sheba  found  the  aged 
woman  with  her  head  upon  little  Hilda's  bosom, 
and  there  she  received  a  faith  that  brought  peace. 

A  few  evenings  later  there  was  a  grassy  mound, 
covered  with  roses,  under  the  apple-tree  by  the 
rustic  seat  ;  and  at  the  head  of  the  little  grave  there 
was  placed  a  block  of  marble  bearing  the  simple  in- 
scription, 

"  Here  sleeps  our  Baby  Hilda." 

*  *  *  ■X-  -x-  * 

Years  have  passed.  The  little  monument  is  now 
near  another  and  a  stately  one  in  a  Virginia  ceme- 
tery. Fresh  flowers  are  on  it,  showing  that  "  Our 
Baby  Hilda"  is  never  forgotten.  Fresh  flowers  are 
beneath  the  stately  column,  proving  that  the  gallant 
soldier  sleeping  under  it  is  never  forgotten.  Fresh 
flowers  are  on  the  young  Confederate's  grave,  com- 
memorating a  manly  and  heroic  devotion  to  a  cause 
that  was  sacred  to  him.  The  cause  was  lost  ;  and 
had  he  lived  to  green  old  age  he  would  have  thanked 
God  for  it.  Not  least  among  the  reasons  for  thank- 
fulness is  the  truth  that  to  men  and  peoples  that 
which  their  hearts  craved  is  often  denied. 

Not  far  away  is  a  home  as  unostentatious  as  the 
Northern  cottage,  but  larger,  and  endowed  with 
every  homelike  attribute.  Sweet  Grace  Graham  is 
its  mistress.  Her  lovely  features  are  somev.hat 
marked  by  time  and  her  deep  experiences,  but  they 
have  gained  a  beauty  and  serenity  that  will  defy 
time.     Sounds  of  joyous  young  life  again  fill  the 


A    LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL   LEAD   THEM.         485 

house,  and  in  a  cradle  by  her  side  "  little  Grace"  is 
sleeping.  Grandma  Mayburn  still  knits  slowly  by 
the  hearth,  but  when  the  days  are  dry  and  warm  it 
is  her  custom  to  steal  away  to  the  cemetery  and 
remain  for  hours  with  "  Our  Baby."  The  major 
has  grown  very  feeble,  but  his  irritable  protest 
against  age  and  infirmity  has  given  place  to  a 
serene,  quiet  waiting  till  he  can  rest  beside  the 
brave  soldiers  who  have  forgotten  their  laurels. 

Colonel  Anderson,  now  a  prosperous  planter,  has 
his  own  happy  home  life,  and  his  aged  father  shares 
the  best  there  is  in  it.  He  still  preaches  in  the 
quaint  old  church,  repaired  but  not  modernized, 
and  his  appearance  and  life  give  eloquence  to  his 
faltering  words.  The  event  of  the  quiet  year  is  the 
annual  visit  of  Rita  and  Captain  Windom  with  their 
little  brood.  Then  truly  the  homes  abound  in 
breezy  life  ;  but  sturdy,  blue-eyed  Warren  Graham 
is  the  natural  leader  of  all  the  little  people's  sport. 
The  gallant  black  horse  Mayburn  is  still  Iss's  pride, 
but  he  lets  no  one  mount  him  except  his  master. 
Aunt  Sheba  presides  at  the  preparation  of  state 
dinners,  and  sits  by  the  cradle  of  baby  Grace.  She 
is  left,  however,  most  of  the  time,  to  her  own  de- 
vices, and  often  finds  her  way  also  to  the  cemetery 
to  "  wisit  dat  dear  little  lamb,  Hilda,"  murmuring 
as  she  creeps  slowly  with  her  cane,  "  We'se  all  a 
followin'  her  now,  bress  de  Lord."  Jinny's  stories 
of  what  she  saw  and  of  her  experiences  abroad  have 
become  so  marvellous  that  they  might  be  true  of 
some  other  planet,  but  not  of  ours.  Dusky  faces 
gather  round  her  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and  absolute 


486  HIS  SOMBRE  RIVALS. 

faith  is  expressed  by  their  awed  faces.  Old  Jehu 
has  all  the  chickens  and  "  sass"  he  wants  without 
working  for  them,  and  his  son  Huey  has  settled 
down  into  a  steady  "hand,"  who  satisfies  his 
former  ruling  passion  with  an  occasional  coon-hunt. 
Both  of  the  colonels  have  the  tastes  of  sportsmen, 
and  do  all  in  their  power  to  preserve  the  game  in 
their  vicinity.  They  have  become  closer  friends 
with  the  lapsing  years,  and  from  crossing  swords 
they  look  forward  to  the  time  when  they  can  cross 
their  family  escutcheons  by  the  marriage  of  the 
sturdy  Warren  with  another  little  Rita,  who  now 
romps  with  him  in  a  child's  happy  unconsciousness. 
There  are  flecks  of  gray  in  Graham's  hair  and 
beard,  and  deep  lines  on  his  resolute  face,  but  he 
maintains  his  erect,  soldierly  bearing  even  when 
superintending  the  homely  details  of  the  plantation. 
Every  one  respects  him  ;  the  majority  are  a  little 
afraid  of  him,  for  where  his  will  has  sway  there  is 
law  and  order,  but  to  the  poor  and  sorrowful  he 
gives  increasing  reason  to  bless  his  name.  His 
wife's  faith  has  become  his.  She  has  proved  it  true 
by  the  sweet  logic  of  her  life.  In  their  belief,  the 
baby  Hilda  is  only  at  home  before  them,  and  the 
soldier  without  fear  and  without  reproach  has  found 
the  immortality  that  he  longed  for  in  his  dying 
moments.  He  is  no  longer  a  cherished,  honored 
memory  only  ;  he  is  the  man  they  loved,  grown 
more  manly,  more  noble  in  the  perfect  conditions 
of  a  higher  plane  of  life.  The  dark  mysteries  of 
evil  are  still  dark  to  them, — problems  that  cannot 
be   solved   by  human   reason.     But  in  the  Divine 


A   LITTLE  CHILD   SHALL  LEAD  THEM.        487 

Man,  toward  whose  compassionate  face  the  sorrow- 
ful and  sinful  of  all  the  centuries  have  turned,  they 
have  found  One  who  has  mastered  the  evil  that 
threatened  their  lives.  They  are  content  to  leave 
the  mystery  of  evil  to  Him  who  has  become  in 
their  deepest  consciousness  Friend  and  Guide.  He 
stands  between  them  and  the  shadows  of  the  past 
and  the  future. 

THE   END. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 

933 

c.l 


